


The Lonely Tower

by Asdgafn



Category: Liontrust - Fandom, Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood, Curses, Fighting, Khadgar is bae, Lothar is such a gruff sweetheart, Lothar swears like a sailor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 21,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Khadgar is a new guardian, and all he's done in the months after he's slain Medivh is.. clean? He's working to clean up the damages done during the fight against Medivh. Meanwhile, Lothar is the new Captain of the Royal Guard, in charge of training the Royal Guard so they are at their best to defend the Queen and (too young) King. After drinking too much one night, he realised it has been months since he'd heard from that spell chucker of his. Concerned, he petitions the Queen to visit Khadgar and check up on the guardian, worried he is in the same downward spiral Medivh ventured. Upon arriving, he discovers all is not as it seems.. </p><p>A story of an unlikely romance born from a dark time where desperation leads to questionable choices.</p><p>(Notice: I'm new to Warcraft(movie) and WoW (game). Lore is spotty, so this will deviate from the movie and game but have references to what occurred in the movie. Lothar isn't the king until the other grows up, instead he's a ruthless training captain for Royal Guard. Thank you. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Cleaning Gets Interesting..

Dust swirled lazily in the air, turned golden by the sunlight streaming in through the deep set windows peppering the upper half of the vast room. A man stood before a fallen bookcase, crushed beneath rubble from a fight many months passed. He uttered a mild curse as he experimentally tugged at a particularly large piece of hardened clay- a piece of the golem Medivh had made. It barely moved despite his efforts and he gave up a moment later with another curse.  
  
Khadgar had spent his first few months of being a guardian doing one thing: cleaning up the rubbish leftover from when he slayed the fel corrupted Medivh. More than a dozen bookshelves had been crushed in the fight and he was determined to retrieve what tomes he could beneath the rubble littering the room.  
  
The downside of being a mage, he was not exactly a muscular guy. In fact his stomach and face still had stubborn baby fat softening it, something he was especially not fond of. It made the matter of moving the mess quite difficult. Although his months of hefting heavy bookcases and shifting rubble had given his body a leaner look, muscle lurking hard under a thin layer of fat.  
  
He absently scratched through his loose linen shirt, itching at the sweat that had dried across his back. He was half soaked with it from his effort this day despite the damp chill that pervaded the tower. The mage had even shoved the sleeves of his shirt up, rolling it to prevent the cloth from falling back down. He had barely stopped at rolling the legs of his leather breeches up, feeling that was a bit excessive.  
  
“Haa.. haa.. haacchoo!” A burst of blue sparks swirled into the air when Khadgar sneezed violently, the dust having tickled his nose for too long. “Damn the dust,” he swore as he scrubbed his hand under his offended nose. The dust was everywhere and driving him insane! It left tracks on his skin, turned almost muddy from his sweat. He hated to sneeze, it always reacted with the magic that ran through his veins, usually appearing in a scattering of blue sparks.  
  
When his nose was recovered, the mage peered around, hunting for a stick of splintered book casing he had tossed aside earlier, “Where was.. ah, hmm.” He had the idea of using it as a lever to shift the rock aside until he found a spell to move it. “Oh,” his eyes alighted on the piece after another moment and he seized it with a triumph mutter. It should be stocky enough to shift the clay aside and free the tomes beneath it.  
  
He quickly discovered it was not thick enough at all. He jammed it under the rock where he could, then doled his weight out against it. The stick shattered after he hefted the bulk of his weight against it, sending him sprawling face forward.  
  
Khadgar uttered a very foul oath as his head dashed hard against the clay, sending stars dancing in his vision. He reared backwards immediately, falling hard on his arse as he clapped a hand to his head. When he withdrew it a second later, he found his fingers slickened with blood that started to slowly ooze from his temple.  
  
“Thrice damned rock,” he shouted as he viciously ripped a section away from his shirt. It was already sweat and dust stained, ripped in a dozen spots. The procured rag was pressed to the small wound that wept blood perhaps a bit too generously. “Gods damn this forsaken rock,” he continued, thoroughly frustrated. He started to utter more oaths, intending to delve deeply into his store of curses when something caught his eye.  
  
The clay boulder had shifted enough to allow an unearthly blue light to seep through. Khadgar went silent as he slowly drew himself up and stood on slightly unsteady legs. “What in the name..” he didn’t finish his sentence as he peered into the small hole he had created, trying to find the source of the pale light. His efforts were not rewarded, he could not see anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, I apologise. All other chapters will be at least 1,000+ words. Thank you for understanding. Reviews/comments are greatly appreciated! This is my first story.


	2. A Mysterious Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not be updating 2 chapters within minutes of each other. I'm just catching my Ao3 up with another site. Thank you for understanding.

His curiosity enabled him to ignore the ache in his head and his frustration as he settled into a crouch next to the stubborn clay rock. He rubbed his hands together, warily studying the flickering glow. He shifted to spread his weight more evenly into his crouch, then braced his palms against the cool surface of the rock. With a groan of effort, he shoved as hard as he could against it, legs straining.

Khadgar’s groan stretched into a growl of determination while he threw all his weight into pushing. He felt the burn in his legs, his arms trembling with exertion as he heaved. Millimeter by millimeter the rock slowly started to move, forcing him to push with renewed determination. After what felt like an hour (in reality, it had been less than a minute), the rock tumbled off the top of the pile of rubbish, crashing nosily onto the floor.

A cry of elation escaped the mage’s lips as he hopped up, arms flung into the air with triumph. He was Khadgar, a Guardian, and he would not be conquered by worthless rocks! He smirked at the hardened clay before redirecting his attention to the freshly exposed ruins of the bookcase that had been trapped beneath it.

The odd glow was more pronounced, a shifting light punctured by flickering runes that swayed in the air. It shone through the splintered wood and tomes, hidden under the mess of the bookcase. He barely resisted the urge to plunge his hands in and start throwing things aside. He knew if he did, his hands would suffer cuts and splinters, so the mage rose and headed to his work bench where strips of linen lay for this very purpose.

Khadgar took the time to carefully wrap his hands, the linen snug against his skin but still allowing room to flex and move his fingers. Properly protected from the dangers of cuts and splinters, he began rooting through the assortment. Intact tomes were gently stacked on a clean bit of floor nearby and books that had broken under the pressure were piled in a haphazard pile of covers and loose pages. He flung the wood aside toward a nearby pile of broken shelves and jagged pieces of wood, former bookcases he had already excavated. With each piece he moved, the glow steadily grew brighter until the light illuminated the area in a wash of soft blue.

The mage squinted against the light, his curiosity surging strongly, his hands trembling with excitement as he moved away a final book to reveal the source of the mysterious light. It was a book? An ancient tome with a cover that was scratched and cracked from age, the leather deeply scarred. Surprisingly intact runes scattered the front, glowing the intense blue that had caught his attention. They were unrecognizable to him and when he gingerly plucked the book up, the glow immediately extinguished, as if snuffed out by his hands.

“How odd,” he murmured aloud, turning the book over to inspect the backside. It was unremarkable, just scarred leather. He set it atop his stack of intact books, unwilling to explore the content quite yet. The tome may be dangerous, he would dedicate his time to it later. For now, he had books to recover and cleaning to do. With a sigh, he resumed plucking books free, stacking them or tossing them into the ruined pile.

It was not until many hours later that the absent minded mage remembered his mysterious tome. It was after he had stripped himself free of his filthy clothing and sunk deep into a wooden tub that steamed and nearly overflowed with suds. He was in the middle of soaping a rag over his arms, washing away the dust of the day, that the book popped into his mind. He paused, rag poised over his skin, to ponder what may lay in the pages of the strange book.

“Is it arcane?” His voice echoed almost loudly in the bathing chamber, nearly startling himself. The tome held his curiosity firmly, but he was wary of exploring the contents, knowing some books had curses inside or dangerous latent magic that could explode outwards if not handled correctly. He pursed his lips for a moment, lost in thought before gusting out a billowing sigh and resuming his efforts to clean himself.

The tome could wait another hour while he bathed. The steaming hot water was too soothing on his sore, overworked muscles. He settled deep into the tub, his chin barely resting atop the water, his legs flung outward over the edge of the tub that was just a bit too small for him. A new one would arrive within the week, with a dozen or more new oak book cases he’d bought to replace the broken.

Khadgar lay in the water until it was stone cold and all the suds had disappeared, until the air was just a bit too chill to justify staying in the bath. He rose with a wear groan, stretching his arms up lazily, water scattering in glittering droplets. As he stepped free of his tub, he uttered an incantation, eyes briefly glowing as the water disappeared with the end of his phrase. The perks of being a lazy mage.

He plucked up a fluffy towel that was only slightly stained, roughly rubbing it over his body to dry. He wrapped his snug around his hips as he ambled out of the bathing chamber, mounting the stairs that would lead him back to the main chamber, where his mysterious book lay. He paused long enough at his room to fetch a woolen robe, which he slung over his shoulder.

Upon arriving at his destination, he flung his hand outward, palm facing up as he murmured words that seem to sear the very air. A small fireball formed in his hand, which he tossed into the hearth, igniting the neatly stacked firewood with a whoosh. The air filled with the soothing crackles and pops of the fire. Khadgar draped his robe over the back of a chair sitting near the fire, leaving it to be warmed by the dancing flames as he made his way to a sturdy workbench sitting against the far wall.

He sifted through the books that lay on the workbench, mostly ruined ones with their pages fluttering loosely free. He found his odd tome under a cooking book whose cover was blackened with soot, one of his failed attempts in learning to cook with magic. An idea he had abandoned after nearly burning his kitchen to a crisp. He spared a second to rewrap his towel around his hips, before plucking up the book and making his way back to his chair.

His robe lay forgotten over the back as he settled into the plush cushions, his eyes glued to the book, burning with curiosity. He cautiously cracked the book open, the words of a ward resting on his lips, just barely unsaid. To his disappointment, nothing happened as his eyes ghosted over the first page, widening with awe at what he read. It was a book containing spells! The first spell was something called ‘blink’, allowing the caster to teleport a few feet in a given direction.

“Amazing,” the mage settled more comfortably into his chair, devouring the words of his book, fingers eagerly turning the pages. He barely noticed the fire slowly burning down or the heaviness in his eyes that started to blur the words before him. Indeed, he didn’t even notice at all when his eyes slowly closed, his breathing deepening as exhaustion took control and he fell asleep. Minutes later, the book thumped as it landed on the floor, falling from his now slack hands. A soft snore replaced the crackle of the fire as he fell asleep and it died into a dim glow of embers.


	3. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically this is an "early" update for this site. But it is the 3rd day for the other site I posted first on. I want to usually update every other day or every day if my motivation allows. (warning: may go longer if life interupts.) Please leave reviews, comments, or kudos! It encourages me. 
> 
> Warning: Lothar is a swear-heavy character. I like to think the death of his son made him a bit bitter, more prone to swearing.

The sound of striking steel filled the air over the sound of grunts and meaty thwacks. Men fought viciously in a courtyard, striking at each other will dull steel swords, all following a loose pattern. They stoically withstood the sting of the practice blades when they struck soft flesh, certainly leaving bruises each time.

“Stop,” an angry voice screamed suddenly, “stop you blasted fools. Do you call that fighting?” A man ruthlessly twisted his sword to disarm his opponent before he threw his blade down in disgust. “You are all worthless fucking fighters—you can barely follow the set! Do you think your enemies are going to fight in a pattern?” The speaker yanked his practice helm off, throwing it down beside his blade.

Anduin Lothar glared at his men with open anger, his eyes icy blue spots that stared down each man before him. They had formed ranks into a line when he began yelling, all standing at attention with stiff postures and disgruntled expressions. Lothar paced up and down the line, arms clasped behind his back, voice dripping with contempt.

“How do you expect to defend your Queen and King when you fail at such basic practice?” He asked, pausing in front of a young man whose face was slightly swollen from a blade strike. “Answer me: how do you expect to defend your Queen and King?” He repeated, studying the youth with a glower.

“Sir, with all due respect, we’ve been practicing since dawn. It’s nearly nightfall… we are all exhausted,” the man explained uncertainly, eyes cast downward. Indeed, most of the men gathered seemed barely able to stand, shaking slightly from sheer exhaustion. Lothar scoffed noisily at the reply.

“Are you all women now, too soft to keep up?” He turned his head aside to spit on the ground before growling, “Off with you all. I expect every last one of you to be back by dawn.” He turned on his heel and stalked off, shaking his head with disappointment. The men stood at attention for a few more minutes before dispersing, removing their gear with groans as aching muscles protested. One fetched Lothar’s discarded gear from the ground, taking it with him as they shuffled into the barracks.

\----------------------------

Lothar slammed his door shut behind him as he entered his chambers, using his heel. He started undoing the ties to his practice armor, a simple set of scarred leather armor that he put away with care into a trunk at the foot of his bed. He jerked his boots off with a tug, dropping them next to the trunk.

“Thank the gods,” he muttered when he saw a plate of dinner had been left on the table in the corner of his chambers; dinner with a tankard and pitcher of ale. He settled himself into his chair and attacked his food with relish, savoring the roasted boar and potatoes. It was simple fare, but still was delicious and was quite filling.

The warrior learned back comfortably in his chair when he finished, nursing his ale with slow sips. He scratched at his beard as he lost himself in his thoughts. Thunder boomed noisily overhead, rattling his empty plate with the sheer force of the clap. A crack of lightning illuminated the room for a brief moment, and a look of pain crossed his face.

Memories flashed through Lothar’s mind, his hands convulsively clutching his tankard. A wall of crackling blue lightning, the zaps that sent his body shuddering, the dying gasp of his son. His eyes clenched shut as the face of his son, Callan, came to mind. The blood that slowly trickled from his mouth, the limpness of his body as fell to the ground. Unshed tears welled in his eyes, but he forced them down with a growl, shoving the memories aside as he started gulping the ale down. He did not bother with his cup now, he drank straight from the pitcher.

When it was nearly empty and a fuzziness entered his hands, a new memory flared up in his mind. Warm brown eyes, messy dark hair, and a smile that warmed his heart. Khadgar. He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes as he struggled to remember the last time he had seen the Guardian. It must have been months by now, the last he’d seen of the Guardian was Llane’s funeral.

A concerned expression stole over the warriors face as he pondered this information, his thoughts sluggish as the alcohol slowed him down. “Khadgar,” his voice was soft in the room, slightly slurred. Months without word from the spell chucker… Was the lad following in the steps of the last Guardian? Medivh had spent six years hidden away in his tower, slowly becoming corrupted and broken.

Lothar slammed his fist on the table, worry exploding through him with such force he trembled from it. “Gods damn that fucking Mage,” he growled, sweeping his arm over the surface of the table, sending its contents crashing to the ground. “I swore I saw no fel in his eyes…” he did not finish the statement, instead sinking into sullen silence. Was the boy corrupted? He made a mental note to visit his sister tomorrow; he’d beg the Queen for permission to check on the bookworm.

For now, he stooped over to collect the items he’d sent to the ground, briefly ashamed of his actions. Thankfully nothing was breakable and he stacked them neatly back onto the table. The warrior surged to his feet, swaying from the alcohol rushing in his system. He stumbled to his bed, where he gracelessly fell onto. It took only moments for a thunderous snore to begin, even as the rain started to fall, spattering against the window.

\----------------------------

Lothar studied the floor as he knelt before the Queen, his hands clenched with frustration. “Taria, please, I fear the Guardian may be following the same fate as Medivh,” his voice cracked slightly as he tried to hide the emotions roiling inside him. “Think about it. It has been months since we heard from Khadgar, the same form of silence that came from Medivh. What if he has been corrupted by the fel?”

His sister sounded doubtful, her voice delicately carrying through the throne level, “Anduin, I’m sure the Guardian is fine. He is young, perhaps he has become lost in his studies? We have not had need of him in these months. What was it you called him?” Taria smiled fondly down at her brother, “Ah, yes. Bookworm. Our young Khadgar is most likely lost in his books; he now is the personal owner of one of the largest libraries in Azeroth.”

“I only want a month, just one month to travel there and make sure he is okay. We cannot afford to have another Guardian fall to the corruption of the fel,” Lothar argued, his voice becoming almost desperate. “I can leave my second in command, Rhys, to keep the troops spry, he is almost my match in battle.” He lifted his gaze to stare at his sister, “Taria, I beg you. Only a month.”

Taria Wrynn traced a thoughtful finger over his lips, watching her brother with a piercing look. The silence lay thick on the empty throne room; she had dismissed all from it when Anduin came to visit. With a gentle sigh, she rose gracefully from her seat next to the throne, dropping to her knees before Anduin. She took his face in her hands, stroking a thumb over a scar that marred his left cheek. “Oh Anduin,” she whispered, her voice soft and almost sad, “you know I cannot deny you when you beg so.”

“You may visit your Mage. You must return within a single month… and you must bring our Guardian back with you. I miss young Khadgar, he has stayed away too long. Settle whatever there is between the two of you,” she dropped her hands to her lap. “Take a gryphon to Karazhan, our fastest will see you there within two days.”

Lothar sagged with relief, dropping his gruff exterior long enough to embrace his sister in a short hug. Then he surged to his feet, briskly walking out of the throne room and rushing to his chambers to ready himself. He did not see the knowing smile Taria aimed at his retreating form, the slight shake of her head.


	4. Why Spiders?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any errors. Written at 2:00 AM :p but I was inspired. Bit of a fast chapter, sorry, sorry. ;D

Lothar haphazardly tossed his clothing into a pack that sagged open on his bed, a scowl settled firmly on his face. He briefly took a moment to cram the articles into the pack before he wrestled it shut, tying it off firmly. He was not one for packing neatly, not when the moment was so dire. His thoughts plagued his mind as he yanked another pack close and started to fill it, too; this time with care as he packed his supplies meant for taking care of his armor and sword. It was a kit that contained a whetstone, oil, multiple rags for polishing, a leather repair kit, and more.

Once the pack was full, he tied it shut and set it beside the other pack that bulged with lumps. Then the warrior carefully dressed in his leather gear, a set that was halfway between armor and riding gear. He shrugged a few times to settle the slightly stiff garments then belted his sword onto his hips. Now fully ready for the trip before him, he seized his packs and briskly left the room, door slamming shut behind him.

He ignored any greeting aimed at him as he walked with urgent speed down the halls of the keep, winding his way through the maze of corridors until he stood outside. His boots thumped noisily on the stone of the canal pathway as he walked alongside Old Town, heading toward the flight master. He could hear the restless movements and caws of the gryphons long before he arrived, nodding to a quartermaster before stomping up the stairs.

Lothar offered a chit to the flight master, who in return fetched a stunning snowy gryphon that snapped playfully at the hands holding her reins. “Careful, she’s a’ feisty ‘un,” the flight master warned with a crooked grin as he passed the reins to the warrior. Lothar muttered a gruff thanks before buckling his packs to the saddle of the beast, pausing long enough to stroke her head as she cooed with pleasure.

“Farewell,” the flight master offered politely as Lothar swung nimbly into the saddle. He offered a brief salute before digging his heels into the gryphon’s sides, sending her running forward into a reckless dive off the side of the wall. He allowed himself an ecstatic cry as she pulled strongly out of the dive and flapped downward with a hard push, launching him into the sky and toward his worrisome mage.

\-----------

Lothar encountered little to no trouble during his flight, stopping only long enough to rest and water his mount. He ate whilst in the saddle, rested only long enough to sate the beast, flying as fast as he could toward the Guardian’s tower. His haste irritated his mount, who greeted him the dawn of the second day with a snap that left a triangular slice in his hand.

“Don’t be difficult you overgrown fucking bird,” Lothar growled, waggling a finger at the disobedient gryphon. “You’ll be heading back home at your leisure after we arrive, you fat beast.” He swatted her head affectionately before offering a sweet apple from his provisions as apology. She snapped the treat up greedily before reluctantly crouching down to allow him access to mount. He climbed up atop her, urging her back into flight with a gentle nudge of his boots.

They made excellent time, perhaps because the gryphon was weary of his company. Night would fall within the hour, the sky streaked with a glorious wash of red and orange and gold. He immediately hopped free of the bird when they landed, turning around to quickly unbuckle his packs. The warrior took the time to feed and water the mount thoroughly, letting her rest before he commanded her back to Stormwind.

She cawed harshly at him, nipping the air near his ear before she launched herself away, flying lazily in comparison to the frantic pace he had set. “Bloody beast,” he groused good-naturedly as he settled the packs on his back and set off on the road that let to Karazhan. He had barely walked for ten minutes when a scuttling sound disturbed his peace.

Lothar slowed to a stop at the noise, hand falling involuntarily to his belt as he peered around warily. He wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword, unnerved by the scuttling as it grew louder. Then, suddenly, a spider the size of a small pony exploded out of the brush with a loud chatter. The warrior dropped back immediately, avoiding the snapping pincers of the oversized arachnid, drawing his sword with a chiming ring.

Three more spiders erupted from the undergrowth as he savagely hacked a down ward strike at the first attacker, cleanly slicing off one of its eight legs. Ichor spewed from the wound, spraying the ground. Smoke curled lazily where the ichor touched, and Lothar made a mental note to avoid the fluids. He slashed viciously at another spider as it edged closer to him and he growled, “Back! Back you monster!”

He snatched a dagger from a sheath tugged into his boot as he dropped into a crouch to avoid an alarmingly high jump from one of the spiders, drawing the blade before he flung it toward a spider. It sank with a sickening thud into the chest of the monstrosity as he desperately waddled forward, clear of the leaping beast. He surged back to standing, whirling around with a wide slashed that cleaved underside of spider that leapt to press the advantage. It sank to the ground before falling to its back, legs spasming.

The remaining two spiders that still lived retreated back into the undergrowth, hissing and chattering their pincers at him. “Yeah, you’d better run you fucking disgusting pieces of shit,” Lothar bellowed as he spat at the ground. “Why did it have to be fucking spiders?” He asked the empty air as he jerked his dagger free from the corpse, wiping it clean on the grass before roughly sheathing it. “No, couldn’t be normal animals like a bear or wolf, its spiders the size of fucking horses.”

The warrior muttered grouchily as he peered around to search for more attackers. By now it was well into nightfall, stars twinkling brightly overhead. As luck had it, the moon was full this night, illuminating his way brightly. When nothing else presented themselves, he stomped onward toward the tower, feet kicking up small puffs of dust on the dirt trail he followed.

With each step closer to the tower, his curses grew more and more vile; his words were blistering when he arrived at the door of the tower nearly an hour later, thankfully not molested further by large spiders or any other beast or monster. He pounded on the door with a clenched fist, “Open the damned door, Khadgar.”

He banged on the door for another minute in the dark of the night, without an answer. _Stupid mage. Probably reading. Fucking bookworm._ Lothar thought sourly as he tried the handle to the door. To his immense surprise, it was not latched and opened easily. He scowled at the entryway before thumping his way into the tower, turning to latch the door firmly shut.

He shivered slightly at the damp chill of the room, his words turning to grumbles over the cold of the place. He turned toward the stairs, deciding he would most likely find Khadgar in the Library. “Why are there so many damn stairs?” he said, “too many damn stairs. Damn horse spiders. Damn cold. Damn mages. Have to fight my way to the tower, just to visit a stupid boy who can’t send a letter. I know he isn’t illiterate…”

Lothar’s words trailed off into a sudden silence when he arrived at the Library. It was only a bit warmer here than it was down stairs yet his cheeks bloomed with sudden heat, a cherry red blush. In a chair beside a dying fire was a naked Khadgar? The warrior clapped his hands to his eyes, rubbed at them furiously for a moment, and then peered at the mage again.

Sure enough, the sight did not change. There was a naked Khadgar in a chair, a fallen book near his feet. Well, to be fair, the boy had a towel wrapped around his waist, but it had fallen slack in his sleep, now barely covering what was important. Lothar dragged his eyes upward and immediately noted the robe that was slung over the back of the chair. _By the gods, this lad will do me in,_ he thought with a barely repressed groan.

_He’ll catch his death in the chill of this room…_ He thought as he dragged a hand through his hair then scratched absently at his chin. With a sigh, the warrior trudged forward and scooped the limp boy up into his arms. He spared a moment to snatch the robe up, then turned toward the stairs and mounted them, heading to where he knew the guest chambers were. _Is he eating enough? He feels so light…_

When he reached the guest rooms, he nudged a door open with his foot and entered, cradling the sleeping Khadgar with care. The mage hadn’t stirred at all, except to nuzzle his face into Lothar’s chest, sighing contentedly in his sleep. It made his heart ache with a flurry of repressed emotions as he spread the robe across the bed and set his burden atop it. He first wrapped the boy up in the clothing before removing the towel, eyes averted as he tied up the front.

“Gods save me,” he murmured as he walked to the fire place, snatching the tinder and flint. He had a fire crackling merrily in no time, warming the chilled room. Lothar spared one last look at the slumbering Khadgar before he whisked himself off into another guest room, the door closing with a gentle thump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notice: Lothar's feelings for our derpy lil mage are a bit shoved down. He halfway refuses to acknowledge them. Gonna get explained later. Also, I love comments! Will appreciate more! May even encourage next chapter sooner. ;D


	5. Sha'la Ros

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wait. It may be a bit longer between chapters, life is getting busier. Sorry, thank you for understanding.

Sunlight streamed into the room in golden rays, showering everything in a wash of brightness. Khadgar cracked an eye open sleepily, then groaned and rolled over at the assault on his eyes. Why did he leave the curtains open? It was too early for such a thing. He wriggled himself down deeper into his blankets, pausing when he realised it was not the light linen sheets he was used to.

The sleepy mage tossed over again and sat up with a confused expression. When had he gone to bed last night? He didn’t remember going to bed last night, especially not in a guest room rather than his extremely comfortable bed. He rubbed at his eyes for a moment before swinging his legs over the bed and standing up.

He stumbled over to the curtains and dragged them shut, dropping the light in the room to a more tolerable level. He came to realise he was only wearing a robe and things were moving more freely than he would have liked. Then his stomach growled noisily with a sharp pang that made him clutch at his midsection. More appropriate clothes could wait until after breakfast.

Khadgar shuffled out of the room and started down the stairs, yawning the whole way. He clutched the bannister for balance, the force of his yawns nearly sending him reeling. He was obviously not a morning person, and it was all too clearly morning judging how damn tired he was. It took two swipes before he grabbed the handle to the kitchen door when he arrived, and he shoved it open with a grumble.

He barely noticed the stranger that was cooking at the stove. _How nice.. someone else doing the cooking,_ Khadgar thought with a faint smile as he sleepily meandered over to the pantry, opening it and fetching out a hunk of dark wheat bread. A cold shiver of fear slithered down his spine, instantly waking him as he realised there was a bloody stranger in his kitchen. The bread fell to the ground with a soft thump as the mage whirled around, clasping his hands before flinging his hands outward.

“Sha’la ros,” he bellowed, an arcane bolt exploding from his hands, a bolt of bright purple energy, edged with blue and white. The magical attack exploded into the side of the stranger, sending him flying into the opposite wall with a startled swear. He crumpled to the ground in a temporarily dazed heap of loose limbs. Khadgar warily readied another attack, the words resting just unsaid on his lips.

“Fucking mages!” The stranger exploded, his voice terse with pain and anger. “Fucking mages. I cook you breakfast and what do you do? Attack me like the ungrateful bastard you are!” The familiarity of the voice had Khadgar pausing to examine him closer. He was pleasantly shocked to see…

“Lothar?!” The mage stood there, stunned by who his stranger was. “What are you doing in Karazhan?” Realising how rude he had been, he bustled forward to extend a hand out toward the fallen warrior. He helped to haul the man to his feet, an apology bursting free. “I apologise, friend. I hadn’t recognized you; I was still half asleep.” An embarrassed flush blossomed over Khadgar’s cheeks as he guiltily glanced downwards.

Lothar grumbled another soft curse as he dusted himself off. He didn’t get a chance to reply to Khadgar as a wretched scent filled the air. “My bacon!” he yelped, lunging forward to knock the frying pan aside, where a few blackened pieces of bacon lay. He glared at the ruins of breakfast before he sighed, “Well, so much for surprising you in bed with a nice meal.”

Khadgar fought down a laugh at the sight of the commander lowering himself to yelping and jumping, smothering it down behind a hand. He coughed slightly to clear his throat, “I have some bread and cheese. Not the best breakfast, but it is what I usually eat?” He offered politely to the slightly flustered warrior. Khadgar bent to fetch the bread from the floor, dusting it off and offering it to his guest.

Lothar glanced at the bread then accepted it with a brisk nod, “Bread and cheese. Good enough fare, I can try again tomorrow for a better morning meal.” He ignored the confused glance from Khadgar at the ‘tomorrow’, instead rooting around in the pantry for the cheese. Lothar used his dagger to reduce the fare into slices. “Where do we eat at?”

\----------------

After their food was consumed, Khadgar lead Lothar up into the Library, chattering away merrily as they mounted the stairs. He did not seem to notice how quickly his companion grew short of breath as he talked on and on. “I’ve been working to repair the damages after the fight,” he was explaining. “The golem’s head fell down from the font room, knocking down book cases and ruining them. I’ve been salvaging what I can.”

Lothar made a noncommittal grunt to show he was listening when Khadgar paused for breath, peering back expectantly. The mage grinned happily as he launched back into explaining, “I have some new book cases coming in within a week. Oh, and I found this absolutely astonishing spell book just yesterday. It had already taught me much,” he babbled onward until they reached the library.

Lothar collapsed into the plush chair he’d found the mage asleep in yesterday and tried desperately to hide both a sudden blush and his out of breath state. “What did the book teach you, bookworm?” He asked when he had better control over himself, looking up to see Khadgar excitedly clutching the novel he’d seen on the floor last night. The filigree and gems glittered from the sunlight streaming into the room.

“One spell allows me to teleport a few yards in any direction,” Khadgar said with a grin. He flipped the book open to a certain page, read the incantation aloud, and promptly teleported sideways. In fact, he teleported directly into a bookcase with a loud ‘oomph’ as the wind was knocked out of him. He doubled over, wheezing out: “its still a work in progress,” as Lothar burst out into a dry laughter.

Khadgar straightened suddenly, directing a puzzled look at the warrior. “Lothar, what are you doing here? I’m afraid I forgot to ask before I tried to reduce you to dust earlier,” the faint hint of humor softened his words into a gentle tease. Then he was serious again, “Have I been summoned to Stormwind? Is there aught amiss with the realm that I must tend to? I can pack quickly.”

Lothar raised a hand to quell the questions, speaking loudly over the boy. “Khadgar, do not worry. The realm is safe, for now. Taria was concerned by your silence these few months. I requested a month times to visit and make sure you were well. It is with regret we remember Medivh…” he trailed off purposely, sitting up straight to stare intently at the mage. “I have been sent to assist you in Karazhan until you are free to visit Stormwind. Taria and the children miss you, spell-chucker.”

Khadgar flushed slightly at Lothar’s words, looking a little lost as he bit absently at his lower lip. His voice seemed confused, hushed when he spoke. “You were all… worried? About me?” He blinked hard before letting a reassuring tone enter his voice, “I am fine, Lothar. Rest assured, I’m not corrupted by the fel or being tempted by demons.” The mage stepped forward to rest a comforting hand on Lothar’s shoulder.

A twinkling look of mischief lightened his chocolaty brown eyes, suddenly smug. “You’re here to help me, huh? How are you on lifting heavy weights?” He turned to look expectedly at one of the smashed bookcases, not yet cleaned up. Lothar followed Khadgar’s look then groaned unhappily at the idea of the manual labour. “You’re going to break my arms, bookworm.”

“My mother always said hard work was good for you,” Khadgar said merrily as he sauntered over to the mess of splintered wood and books. Lothar responded by throwing a book at the mage, who promptly ducked with a laugh that rang out sweetly in the library, echoing softly back to the soon bickering duo.


	6. Thunder and Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long, and I apologise for any errors. I need to stop writing at 2:30 AM! This is a longer chapter just for the wait, and its dramatic! ;) Next chapter will be cutsy stuff, be prepared.

As it turned out, warriors were rubbish at cleaning things up. If you handed them a sword, they could easily fight their way through life. If you hand them a broom however, they just stare at you in confusion. Khadgar tried to explain, for perhaps the hundredth time, what exactly he wanted Lothar to do with the broom. The two had been trying to clean for perhaps over an hour, and all they had to show for progress was.. well, nothing.

It started well enough when the laughter and bickering died down. Khadgar had asked Lothar to move a few things, and he did that just fine. Except he tossed them aside without looking first and ended up knocking down another bookshelf. Once that was righted and reorganized, Khadgar asked Lothar if he could hold some books for a moment.

Instead of holding them, he had dumped the stack on top of a nearby pile. That resulted in Khadgar rushing over, babbling about “that is the throw away pile! We can’t throw these away! What about my blink spell?” The mage dug out the books he wanted to keep and relocated them to a table that was for books he wanted to keep. Lothar tried to apologise, but Khadgar waved it away with a sigh.

Then the bookworm had the idea of sweeping. It was horribly dusty in the room and there were small shards of wood absolutely everywhere on the floor. He ran down to the kitchen to fetch a broom, which he had thrust hastily into Lothar’s hands before the man could meddle more. “You just sweep with it, Lothar! It isn’t a hard concept. Just go to that corner, start at the wall, and sweep the dust and dirt into a pile.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get your robes in a knot.” Lothar said amiably, hefting the broom up in a peaceful manner before he walked over to his corner. He dragged the broom over the floor in what he hoped was a sweeping gesture, and when he received no scolding, he figured the job was being done at an alright level. He shifted himself so that the wall was at his back, giving him free reign to watch Khadgar as he swept.

The boy was looking well, he noted, watching as Khadgar neatly stacked books on a table. He had lost a bit of weight, but still looked healthy and fit. In fact, Lothar noted to himself with a raised eyebrow, there was a new definition to the boy, his arms showing muscles he hadn’t had before. And he seemed… happy, puttering around his Library, cleaning like it was an actually enjoyable activity.

Lothar found himself smiling slightly, something he quickly smothered before attacking the floor with desperate scrapes. Dust puffed up at his ministrations and a growing pile encouraged him. He found himself soothed by the continuous motion and he began to hum softly to himself, a small snatch of a tune under his breath. It wasn’t until he looked up to see Khadgar studying him that he realised he had been humming to himself. He flushed and turned away from the look, going silent save the scrape of his book.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Khadgar stretched with a noisily groan, his hands stretching toward the ceiling as he arched his back before settling into a loose slouch. He had made great progress after sending Lothar off to sweep; a neat stack of books leaned on the table. His pile of discard had grown with useless books and he had cleaned away the remains of another book case.

As he dragged a hand through his messy hair, Khadgar glanced over to check up on his unusually silent companion. The slightest of laughs huffed out of him when he saw what the man was up to. Lothar had abandoned his sweeping. Instead, the warrior was going through practice motions. He hefted his broom as if it were a sword, sweeping it through the air in slices instead of on the ground, gathering dust. He had the fiercest look of concentration as he worked; Khadgar could not help but admire his control.

Khadgar stretched again before walking toward Lothar, trying his hardest to stifle his smile. He was partly conflicted on his emotions about him. Part of the mage was glad for the company, especially after the good (if sad) terms they had parted on. Yet a part of him was worried that Lothar hadn’t been telling the whole truth about his visit. What would he even do for a month? The time frame seemed excessive.

He dismissed the thoughts from his mind, instead speaking up in neutral voice, his smile gone. “Lothar, it’s nearly time for our evening meal. Would you care to take a break from your…” here amusement coloured his voice, “… sweeping?” Lothar whirled around to stare incredulously at Khadgar and he at least had the good graces to look a bit ashamed. He mumbled his assent to the idea of food, reaching over to lean his mistreated broom against the wall before following Khadgar to the kitchens. His miniscule pile of dust was scattered by his own unknowing feet, erasing the evidence of his work.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The air was heavy with the storm, thick enough to almost cut with a knife. Thunder boomed explosively, quickly followed by the sharp crack of lightning that illuminated the room for the barest of seconds. The wind moaned brokenly against the tower, wailing like the voices of the long lost one moment before howling with rage the next moment.

Lothar listened to the rain as it lashed relentlessly against the window and he briefly wondered if the storm would blow the window inward, shattering it with a noise like the lightning. He blew out a shuddering breath, eyes squeezing shut at the next boom of thunder, his body flinching at the sharp crack of the lightning following up. His memories oozed like oil on water over his mind, floating above his thoughts.

The crackle of arcane created lightning, the shocks that made his body go numb, the sound of his screams that echoed brokenly in his own ears. The desperate look on his son’s face, the shock of pain that replaced it, then the slack features after he bounced off the lightning wall. He remembered how limp Callan looked when his body settled on the ground, slack as his blood spurted from the grotesque wound dealt to him.

Lothar sucked in a sharp breath that caught into the beginning of a sob that was immediately muffled by his fist cramming against his mouth. He forced control back over his body, swinging his feet over his bed as he stood in his chambers. A glance out the window showed it was still the middle of the night, he had barely managed a wink of sleep. He bit sharply at his bottom lip for a moment, then turned toward the door.

He wrenched it open, padding out into the hallway with bare feet that ached at the cold of the stone floors. He heard soft snores, almost smothered by the vicious storm, letting him know that Khadgar was sound asleep. The boy had insisted he stay in the guest room next to Lothar’s room, and he hadn’t the heart to deny the enthusiastic boy his small desire. The close proximity had him on edge as he tip toed down the stairs.

Lothar found himself in the Library, staring at the rows upon rows of neatly organized books set on sturdy oak cases. No wonder he is such a bookworm. It’s almost peaceful, he mused to himself as he wandered through the dozens of book cases filling the room. He still flinched sharply at each thunderous clap and ear splitting crack, but the peace of the tomes surrounding him allowed him the strength to subdue his memories.

One book in particular caught his attention, making him pause before it with a puzzled expression. It was black leather with golden filigree, an intricate swirl of delicately placed gold that formed abstractly pleasing shapes. He tugged the book free from where it lay sandwiched between the others. He was surprised to see an enormous green gem in the centre of the cover, sparkling in the flashed of lightning and the flickering of torches.

“What an odd thing. A gem in a book,” Lothar murmured aloud, turning the book in his hands to seek the title. He did not find the title on the spine, nor the back, nor anywhere on the cover. With a curious frown he cracked open the book, eyes searching for a title page. Instead of discovering what the book was, he instead got violently thrown backwards as the book exploded with hissing shadows.

His back slammed into a wall, his breath leaving his body in a broken gasp as he slumped limply to the ground. He vaguely saw a shadow oozing free of the book where it had fallen, forming a vaguely human-like shape. Inky clouds shifted at the feet of the shade as it condensed into a more corporeal form. Darkness slid across Lothar’s vision as he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw being the dark pits that served for the shades eyes, fixed intently on him.

When he came to, he was lying beside a bookcase with a book resting in his outstretched hand. The warrior scrambled to sit up, his face twisted with confusion as he glanced quickly around the room. A memory of a slightly human shadow lurked in his mind, but he saw nothing out of place in the room. And despite his memories telling him he had been thrown and hurt, his body did not ache.

Lothar shakily hauled himself upwards until he stood unsteadily, the book clutched in his shaking hands. He crammed it hastily back into its place before turning to the stairs and mounting them as quickly as he can. It was a dream… a horrible dream brought by this gods cursed storm, he reasoned to himself as he returned to his bed. The brunt of the storm had passed by now, dying down to the gentle patter of rain on the window and the softest of rumbles of thunder in the distance.

He laid down on his bed, jerking the blankets up with a savage tug. “Just a dream,” he whispered to the air as he squeezed his eyes shut. Exhaustion hit him with a blunt wave and the warrior found himself slipping easily into a troubled sleep. He did not see, lurking in the corner of his room, the humanoid shape of shadows that watched him as he slumbered. The barest flickered of lightning made it vanish without a trace.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fluff chapter. Enjoy! The next will be a mix of fluff and super seriousness. O: Someone might get injured......

Only a week has passed since the unexpected arrival of Lothar and the warrior was driving Khadgar absolutely insane. It wasn’t that the warrior was purposefully irritating the Guardian; in fact it was all by accident from his boundless enthusiasm to be useful. Only he was as useful as a wet sock, which wasn’t very useful at all. When it came to sheer strength, he was able to lend help and sometimes he was able to cook a meal that was tasty.

But if Khadgar gave Lothar a broom, he would just find a shadowy corner to tuck himself away in and practice as if his cleaning tool were a sword. He kept relatively silent during these sessions but he had nearly knocked down a bookcase or five when he underestimated the lack of weight in his makeshift sword. The floors stayed woefully dusty and covered in little splinters of wood and fragments of paper.

If Khadgar tried to lift anything heavier than a few books, Lothar would immediately spring up and diligently offer his assistance. Except his offer was a demand or he just straight up took over whatever task Khadgar had been trying to do. Such as move a bookcase a few inches to the left or heft a heavy piece a wood to the side. The problem was Lothar usually moved the case too far and he always left the wood not on the rubbish pile but instead just shifted to the side.

And then there was the humming. The warrior was prone to humming the same snatch of tune time and time again. If he didn’t think Khadgar was paying attention, he’d started up his soft, gruff hum. It was a soothing bit of a lullaby, sounding odd coming from the scarred warrior. When he cooked, he was humming. When he worked with his not a sword broom, he was humming. Yet he never finished the tune, and it was firmly stuck in Khadgar’s head.

The unfinished piece of music repeated in an endless loop through Khadgar’s thoughts, always turning over itself again and again. It was bothering the mage deeply that he didn’t know the entirety to the lullaby, it was something he had never heard before. He found himself humming alternative songs in a desperate attempt to get it out of his head. It never worked.

It was how he found himself humming it loudly in his chambers one evening. Lothar was busy downstairs dealing with a few workers that were delivering Khadgar’s new bookshelves. Khadgar had been shooed away under the claims that the Guardian “smelled like a horses’ arse” and was covered in a “shit load of dust”. He deeply disagreed with the notion but took a bath anyways.

And now he was humming to himself as he got dressed, trying to puzzle out a possible ending to the incomplete work that played so relentlessly through his thoughts. He hummed an experimental ending aloud as he tugged on a pair of linen hose but he immediately discarded the tune with a snort. He found it fit well to something akin to a waltz, smooth and flowing with a bit of a jaunt to it.

With an indulgent smile, Khadgar hummed to himself as he started through the steps of a common waltz, dancing lightly in the centre of his room. He tugged his shirt on as he swayed through the movements, closing his eyes to pretend he was in a grand court. The Kirin Tor has insisted all pupils become adequate dancers for the sake of appeasing the nobles. He always found it incredibly comforting to go through the motions of his favourite dances. The waltz was his favourite and it showed as he glided his way around, smiling contently.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

  
Lothar took a step back to admire his handiwork, hands propped on his hips as he grinned. The last bookcase was carefully unloaded with the others, set up against a far wall for the time being. He had directed and assisted the half a dozen workers that dropped off the shipment, working beside them companionably to move the impossibly heavy oak cases.

His attention was snapped up by the weary sigh of one of the workers who took a step back and glowered out the open doorway. The disgruntled worker commented noisily, “’Tis a shame darkness will fall soon, I don’t envy facing those monstrous spiders again. Fucking spiders,” he gave a great shudder as he crossed himself, warding against evil. “Why spiders? It couldna been butterflies or moths?”

Lothar made a hearty noise of agreement, “Spiders. Nothing uglier and nastier than them. Take the southern path, you can hopefully avoid them that way.” He offered politely, remembering Khadgar saying something of it a few days prior. “They don’t like the flowers growing along the path?” The worker murmured a skeptical note of gratitude before stomping out the doorway.

“Farewell,” Lothar called before he bolted the door shut for the night, double checking before he turned toward the stairs. “Spiders, pah. Awful things,” he muttered to himself as he mounted the first step. He turned his thoughts to the delivery; Khadgar would be pleased that his bookcases had all survived the trip without a scratch. And the enormous bathtub that had arrived, too! By the gods, it could easily fit three inside it.

Why are there so many bloody stairs? He thought with a huff as he staggered up the stairs, already finding himself growing short of breath. The worn wood creaked mournfully on his boots every few steps as if agreeing with his thoughts on there being too many. Lothar took a moment to suck in a few gasps of breath, leaning heavily against the wall. “I hate stairs,” he announced dryly to the uncaring steps.

He sighed at the lack of reply before resuming his trip. _The bookworm will be happy.. Gods, he loves those books entirely too much._ A fond smile briefly touched his lips as he thought back on his trip to Karazhan months prior. The ignored ‘don’t touch anything’, the wonder in the boy’s eyes as he hungrily stared at the mass quantities of tomes just at his fingertips. Despite his teasing nickname for it, Lothar admired the mage’s hunger for knowledge.

His thoughts kept him company until he arrived at Khadgar’s door, where they ground to a halt in surprise. The door was cracked open half a foot and was the mage... _dancing?_ Lothar stifled the noise of surprise as he watched Khadgar swaying himself around in neat circles through his room, eyes closed in concentration as he hummed loudly and danced.

Lothar winced as he recognized the tune (even though Khadgar couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket!). It was the lullaby he’d been singing to himself of late. Many years ago it he had hummed it for his newborn son, soothing the outraged howls of a disgruntled babe. It was the only thing that had soothed Callan as a child; it was a lullaby his mother had invented before his birth.

And now Khadgar was dancing to it, humming it to himself. Only the song was left unfinished each time. He would hum the first minute or so of it, then start repeating. Lothar leaned quietly against the doorway, fighting the smile that stubbornly found its way through. The sight and memories made his heart ache in his chest, under a clenched fist that rested on his chest.

By the gods. Why was it the mage he had to have fallen for? His mind struggled to justify the emotions that surged within the confused warrior, whose heart started to race in jagged thumps. Had it been the stubbornness of the boy, intent on carving his way in the world despite fleeing the Kirin Tor? Was it the shining intelligence that hid under his shy exterior? No… It had been the raw way he described his parents dumping him as a child. Him running away despite the dishonour. It was the desperate need to prove himself.

Lothar sucked in a long breath before he ruthlessly squashed his emotions down. “Who knew spell chuckers could dance?” He said loudly as he strolled into the room, a smirk planted firmly on his face. Khadgar immediately whirled around to stare at the intruder with an alarmed expression. It quickly turned to an indignant one as he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. It took everything Lothar had to not just tuck Khadgar into his arms and dance the night away with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. I apologise for the long wait. My SO is coming in out of country for 2 weeks. Been a whirlwind of preparing. As a result, I uploads may get scarce. So sorry!


	8. Into The Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people! I'm back! Life slammed me with a shitload of nope these few months. I finally have an update! Have some drama... oooh.

“Who knew spell chuckers could dance?” The voice startled him free of his reverie, lost in the tune he hummed absently. He jerked with alarm at the loudness of the comment, whirling around to stare with alarm at Lothar. Then the comment registered in his mind and he huffed with irritation, arms crossing over his chest as he scowled.  
  
“The Kirin Tor taught all pupils how to dance,” Khadgar replied, his voice sullen with embarrassment. His thoughts roiled unpleasantly in his mind, thick with embarrassment at being caught doing such a silly activity, dancing around like a fool. The lullaby stuttered brokenly at the bottom of his thoughts, still stuck in that continuous loop.  
  
Lothar offered the mage a roughish grin as he ambled lazily into the room, an eyebrow cocked upwards with amusement. “So you decided that dancing alone in your room justified the lessons?” He asked archly before he coughed out a little laugh at Khadgar’s expression. “Hey, I’m not judging you, bookworm. Everyone has their little pleasures. You just happen to like the simple things.”  
  
Khadgar shifted uncomfortably at the words before he grumbled out a reply, “It isn’t simple.” When Lothar offered an unbelieving grunt, he explained further with a renewed scowl. “It’s hard, dancing. The body doesn’t agree with the motions, it takes talent.” To offer an example, the mage slid through the motions of a complex portion for a ball waltz, feet sliding elegantly across the polished wood of his floor.  
  
“Like hell it’s hard.” The warrior scoffed before he caught Khadgar with a hand to his shoulder, ceasing his movements. “The bookcases and tub have been delivered successfully, nothing broken nor scratched. Did you plan to fit more than your skinny arse in that tub? It’s huge,” he reached over to tousle his hair with another smile.  
  
“I like being fully emerged,” he defended himself with a frown, the smallest of blushes staining his cheeks a delicate rose as Khadgar ducked away from the warrior. “Did they set it up in the washroom?” At the shake of Lothar’s head, he groaned miserably. “Moving it will be a bitch,” Lothar commented wryly before he awkwardly raked a hand through his hair and scuffed the toe of a boot against the floor. “I guess you’re going to need help moving it?”  
  
“Oh, no, I’ll just ask the spiders down the road to pop in for a candlemark to help me move it,” Khadgar replied sarcastically, “Of course I’ll need your help, Lothar!” He wrinkled his nose at the thought before he paused for a long moment. “Will you help me?” His voice was soft with uncertainty as he wondered if his previous words might be offensive.  
  
His doubts were erased immediately as Lothar strolled back toward the door, “Come on bookworm, of course I’ll help you. Let us make haste in this, I’m claiming the first soak.” The words of disagreement were hot on Khadgar’s lips as he chased after the warrior, who cackled laughter back at him. The stairway echoed their bickering with an almost weary repetition.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

It was four candlemarks later that the duo finally scooted the wooden bathing tub into place, both panting and red faced from exertion. Lothar swore loudly as he leaned against the wall, his glare nearly scorching. “Gods damn this blasted tub. Must you have ordered the largest fucking one?” He shifted his look toward the mage who sagged wearily against the tub.  
  
“You’re spoiled to the core, Khadgar. Solid oak is curst heavy.” He growled before lightly kicking the tub, “I will be having the first soak in the tub. Did you bother at all in helping me carry it? And why do you have so many fucking stairs?” He grumped on when his mage offered no reply besides a tired chuckle and shake of his sweat dampened head.  
  
Lothar flinched when a sudden flash of bright blue light scalded his sight for a split moment, his voice cracking out a startled oath. He jerked his hands up to rub roughly at his eyes as he blinked away the after spots. When the blurred tone to his vision eased off, he saw the tub was filled to nearly the brim with gently steaming water. Khadgar looked as smug as a cat.  
  
“Hurry up, don’t dawdle or I might join you in my bathtub.” The mage tossed over his shoulder as he sauntered past the speechless warrior. His reply was given in the form of a slightly damp tunic hitting Khadgar’s head as he left. His laughter was drowned out by the loud thump when the door slammed shut behind him and just barely, the sound of Lothar’s cursing.  
  
Lothar muttered a few more healthy curses as he stripped himself of his clothing, leaving them in a messy pile off to the side. The steam slowly filled the room, swirling in lazy patterned that mimicked smoke. The warrior sighed as he clambered over the side of the tub, sinking down into the delicious heat of the magicked water. Oh bless that mage and his spells…  
  
~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_  
  
Khadgar poked at the sizzling eggs in the pan, savoring the smell wafting up from the omelet. He had decided to work on making dinner whilst his warrior soaked away his aches. He leaned over to fetch a small dish of salt and sprinkled a pinch over pan, humming contentedly. He tapped his spoon absently on the pan to the beat of the tune as his thoughts wandered freely.  
  
The peace of cooking did not last long. The air took a sudden chill that rose gooseflesh over the mage’s arms and turned his breath into swirling vapor. Dread slid cold fingers up Khadgar’s spin as a sense of something utterly wrong overtook him. His spoon brandished like a weapon, he whirled around with widened eyes.  
  
Standing in the doorway of his kitchen was a grotesque monster. It was mottled with black and grey and purple, skin jumping and pulsing as if something sought to escape from the creature’s very hide. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, save for the tendrils that oozed free from its form, spilling onto the ground with twitchy movements. There were no eyes, just two pits that suggested a gaze that was focused on the mage.  
  
“Sha’la ros,” he bellowed even as he lunged to the side toward the cover of a chair. It was not the most practical but it would service for a moment. His arcane bolt exploded forcefully in a riot of arcane symbols and purple light, robbing him of sight for a split moment. As he blinked away the spots rapidly, he saw the creature stood unmoved by his attack, still haunting the doorway.  
  
A low voice scraped free from the throat of it, raw and scratching as it spoke words that echoed with power. Green light seeped through the black hues of its skin, flickering with little flames across the tendrils that begun to wave madly about its body. Khadgar was saved from what he assumed was surely death as he barked the words to a ward even as the bolt of fiendish fire launched itself at him. The sudden barrier of arcane energy violently engulfed the raging green fire that splattered across his ward, dissipating the attack with an acrid burst of smoke.  
  
Khadgar surveyed the creature from the temporary shelter of his arcane ward, eyes blazing with blue energy as the spell coursed through him, fueling the shield. The shade seemed unaffected by the failure in its attack, it only hissed more words with a grating tone. Blast after blast of vile green fie splattered across his shield, eating away steadily at the mage’s strength as he poured more power into his spell, desperate to avoid the surefire death that awaited him at the creature’s spells.  
  
His teeth gritted together tightly as he strained to maintain his spell, blurriness haunting the edge of his vision. He gasped for breath as if the air were too thin, sweat beaded heavily on his skin. The fire flickered in his vision, merging with the blue and purple of the arcane. His mind raced through spells, some he barked aloud to launch attacks through his shield and at the shade. Each attack yielded no result, the creature just shrugged them off as if they were only mildly annoying.  
  
The mage’s vision swam as darkness crept on the edge of his vision, threatening to overwhelm him. What could only be described as a smile slid onto the creatures face as it readied another vicious attack against its victim. But it would not launch the last blast of fel fire for a sword slashed mercilessly through the shade, passing through it without resistance to clash loudly with the flagstones of the floor. The shade erupted into smoke with a furious shriek.  
  
Khadgar clasped his hands to his ears with a pained moan, the noise of that scream causing agony to pulse through his ears. He felt the hot trickle of blood escape his ears to slide down his throat and the last he remembered before slumping sideways as darkness claimed him was the concerned expression of Lothar as he bolted across to the kitchen. The warrior knelt next to the mage, arms circling protectively over Khadgar’s shoulders as the mage passed out. Oddly, his last thought was not of the shade but of his burning eggs.


	9. Ropes and Beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinky title does not mean kinky chapter. :P

“Khadgar I will tie you to your bed if you don’t take a moment to rest, damn it.” Lothar shouted for the third time that morning, looking at the pesky mage with a frustrated expression. “You were out cold for a solid day. That doesn’t mean you work without cease for an entire bloody day.” He brandished a handful of rope as if to make his point, shaking it menacingly in Khadgar’s face.

The mage rolled his eyes heavenwards and sighed noisily through his nose. “I’m not a child, thank you very much.” His voice was thoroughly disgruntled, yet he plopped himself in his comfortable arm chair, sinking into the thick cushions. “I need to know what it was. A shade? Can shades even use the fel? It’s dangerous, Lothar. It was powerful enough to attack me. A guardian!” He turned to look at Lothar with fear widened eyes, turned deep blue with emotion.

Then he scowled, remembering aftereffects of the attack. The exhaustion of using so much power against the dangerous attacks had left Khadgar in a slight comatose state. According to Lothar, he slept through the night, through the entire following day, and only woke a few hours before dawn the next day. He had woken with a massive head throbbing painfully through his skull, eyes blurring with tears at the dim light filtering in from outside.

It had taken three mugs of willow bark tea to ease the headache enough for him to sit up. Then he ended up vomiting everything up all over Lothar, much to the warrior’s disgust. And barely an hour later, Khadgar was up and moving, desperately searching through the countless books at his disposal. His stomach turned uneasily if he moved too much, and Lothar hung behind him like a mother hen, clucking his disapproval if Khadgar worked longer than an hour at a time.

“Bookworm, you’re in no state to push yourself. We already know my sword sends it cowering away for a time. Even if you found your answer today, you’re too weak to do shit about it.” Lothar spoke in a brisk tone, not necessarily cruel but blunt enough to hit home with the stubborn boy. “You’ll just end up killing yourself,” he added as almost an afterthought. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head ruefully.

“I’m sorry you got attacked, lad. I know you have an itch to keep going on until you collapse but your health is priority right now.” Lothar moved away from the bookcase he had been standing near, dropping the rope on a table as he passed by. His boots thumped loudly against the wood floors as he made way to Khadgar. He slowly lowered himself into the chair across the mage, who was currently staring blankly at nothing, forehead creased with his thoughts. Had he even heard Lothar speaking?

“Khadgar?” He asked cautiously when the silence stretched for too long, shifting uncertainly as if he meant to stand once more. His concern was eased when the boy blinked, focusing his gaze on Lothar. A sheepish smile and faint blush stained his expression, showing that he had been quite lost inside his own mind. It pulled at the hidden corners of Lothar’s heart, something he ruthlessly shoved down.

“Sorry, sorry.” Khadgar wiggled himself deeper into his chair, feet reaching out for a moment in a lazy stretch. “I wonder if I released this… this shade. When I was repairing the Library. Some tomes are cursed, I was careful though. But accidents can happen.” The Guardian looked ashamed at the thought he may be responsible for the problem. He began to chew absently at his bottom lip, slipping back into his thoughts and missing the reply Lothar gave. In return, Lothar threw his hands up in exasperation before he left to fix up dinner.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

“Aha!” The cry rang out through the room, shrill with excitement, echoing back in on itself faintly. Khadgar brandished a book outwards toward his companion, excitedly gesturing to the open pages. “It was a shade. It fled from your sword because iron hurts them.” His finger traced through the words, moving down the page slowly. “They only show from cursed objects. There is a banishment spell, but we need the object it came from.”

Lothar leaned over the book, reading the words with a short nod. “How in the blazes do we find it? If it was a book, as you thought, we’ll never find it.” His voice was acidly disappointed, frustrated, and concerned. It was late in the evening, the stars shining brightly through the faint light of the moon outside the windows. “Do you have a spell that finds cursed shit?” He asked, “Otherwise we’re stuck here for the next, oh I don’t know, thousand fucking years.”

Khadgar wilted at the sharp tone of his friend, closing the book with a tired snap. “I… I might be able to find a spell? Something that can help find everything cursed in the Library.” His voice was quiet, timid against the wrathful look on Lothar’s face. Yet the angry melted away, the warrior reaching out a surprisingly gentle hand to rub Khadgar’s shoulder. They exchanged a tired look, each exhausted from the overly eventful week they’d shared.

“You did well, bookworm. We’ll keep looking in the morning.” He wearily helped Khadgar stand, pulling him free from the grasp of the chair. “Fucking stairs,” he managed to grouch as they began the walk upwards, footsteps echoing in the stairwell. “I will never get used to the sheer amount of fucking stairs in this fucking tower.” His grumpy words earned a tired chuckle from the mage, who threw an amused glance his way.

Lothar followed Khadgar right up to the door of his room, hesitating uncomfortably in the doorway. “Khadgar? Uh, I think… that is, ahem,” he stumbled over his words, looking downward at his feet with a scowl. His heart hammered almost painfully in his chest, lurching through an unsteady beat. “I think I should sleep in your room tonight. In case the shade attacks.” He unsheathed an inch of the sword as if to make his point before letting the blade drop back down. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he added quickly when Khadgar looked at him.

The Guardian coughed mildly before he rolled his eyes, exasperated at how awkward Lothar was behaving. “You can share the bed, it’s plenty big enough. No need to act like you’re having your toenails removed,” Khadgar spoke while walking into the room, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “The floor is, as you would so eloquently say, ‘fucking uncomfortable’. Just don’t steal my blanket, alright?” The mage stepped behind a screen to change into his sleep wear which consisted of a loose linen shirt and soft trousers.

Lothar grumbled and grouched about the situation all the way until he was laying under the blankets, Khadgar already passed out a few inches off to his side. He laid ram rod straight, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to the soft snores filling the room. His mind was racing with suppressed feelings, they crept over his mind like a parasite, rooting firmly in place. The warrior closed his eyes against them, willing himself to just fall asleep and not think too much. Eventually the quiet snores and sleep sounds of the Guardian lolled him into a restless sleep, his body relaxing against the bed.


	10. First You Cuddle, Then You Cast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like chapter 9 was a bit lackluster. So you all get TWO chapters tonight! I hope it's good enough, I've had writers block on this work. :(

Dawn came with the trill of a bird outside the window, chirping a quick quip of birdsong. A splash of warm sunlight soothed the aches in his body as he slowly pulled himself out of the tight grasp of sleep. He drowsily swiped a hand over his eyes, rubbing away the cling of sleep. Even as a slight yawn eased free from him, he realised there was a weight resting comfortably over his midsection and legs. The shreds of his dreams slowed his thoughts and instead he forced his half asleep eyes open, blinking against the brightness of the room.

There was an arm draped snug against his chest, hand curled against his side to keep him close. His confused gaze slipped further downwards to see what trapped his leg, but the thick wool blanket obscured his sight. He suspected there was a leg entangled with his own, keeping it flush against the bed. Khadgar stifled another yawn as he turned his head to look at his sleeping companion, mind slowly filtering through the scenario.

Lothar looked peaceful when he slept, his face was finally relaxed and free of the stress that constantly pulled him down. His dreams must have been pleasant for a small smile curved his lips ever so slightly, barely shown for the man had half his face buried into the pillow. Khadgar almost didn’t wish the moment would end, it was almost overwhelmingly peaceful. He felt content to lay there, his mind didn’t even register that the moment was a more than a bit odd.

In fact, it forced him to sleepily contemplate himself. The days spent around Lothar had awoken a strange stirring in his heart, something he had resolutely ignored, shrugged away as just an oddity. It wasn’t anything major, just small little occurrences. Sometimes his heart would speed up a hair when he saw Lothar doing his silly sword practice with a broom. Once or twice his heart stuttered, skipping a beat when Lothar laughed. He always laughed with everything, a roar straight from his belly, rough and awkward and true.

And now? The mage felt a bit more complete, snug in the warrior’s sleeping embrace. But as the last shred of sleep faded from his mind, he realised it was a situation that could wreck their friendship. The warrior was the icon of masculinity, a strong individual that fought like a lion in battle, sword swinging with barely an effort. He had married in the past, had a child. He doubted Lothar would be interested in anything with the mage, whose sexuality was fluid. One didn’t make through the Kirin Tor without a bit… exploration.

Khadgar carefully eased the heavy arm off his chest, scooting it inch by inch until Lothar unexpectedly seized his pillow in a grasp, hand curling into the fabric instead. That made it a bit simpler, yet his legs were still hopelessly tangled up, one leg pinned against the bed, the other hugged under Lothar’s leg. It was a bit of a puzzle, yet he slowly wiggled and tugged himself free, tensing each time the warrior’s breathing hitched, as if he were moments away from waking. Each time his breathing would return to the slow of sleep; it took more than a bit of wiggling to wake him.

When he was free of the bed and standing unsteadily, the guardian spared a brief look, a small smile. Then he tip toed out of the bedroom, easing the door shut behind him with only a soft click to disturb the silence. He padded down the stairs, flinching at the chilly wood under his previously warm feet. A brief murmur of arcane words and a negligent wave of his hand lit the torches in their scones, the flames crackling cheerfully in the too quiet atmosphere. The warm tones of the fires overwhelmed the brief flash of blue from his spell, arcane sigils fading quickly in the air.

The same spell was used in the kitchen, a hearty fire erupting into life inside the hearth, slowly spreading warmth into the frigid air. Khadgar worked to the soft sound of his own voice, humming that lullaby that started it all, a content smile gentle on his face. The air took on the delicious scent of bacon and eggs, grease popping in the pan. He made enough for a small army, or perhaps one ravenous warrior, who tried to eat like he was an army. He even set water to boiling for coffee, something he knew Lothar favoured.

Sure enough, as if the tempting smell of the brew had summoned him, Khadgar heard the loud stomp as the warrior made his way, cursing heartily, down the stairs. A moment later, just as the mage dumped their breakfast onto plates, Lothar swung into the kitchen with a wide and noisy yawn. “Bookworm! I thought you would sleep longer,” he said as way of greeting, plopping down into a chair that creaked ominously under his weight. A sleepy smile burst over his face when Khadgar settled a lumpy mug in front of him, steam swirling lazily from the black liquid.

“You should have woke me up. What if you had been attacked? Can you even lift my sword? Or swing it?” The words were aggressive but Lothar offered a gruff chuckle to soften the tone. He took a quick drink of coffee, wincing as it scalded his tongue but he was unwilling to admit his impatience had earned him a burn. Khadgar smothered a laugh before he tried to be serious, the amusement still bright in his eyes.

“I’m sure I could lift it if I tried. I did move more than a few bookcases on my own, I have some, er, muscle?” The mage coughed slightly, looking a bit ashamed before he plowed on, shrugging away the moment. “I have enough magic to keep myself out of trouble until you show up. I am a Guardian, you know?” Khadgar raised an eyebrow, wiggling his hand lightly in front of Lothar’s face, interrupting him in the middle of eating.

Lothar grimaced at the movement, swatting away the hand with a snort. “I am not your knight in shining armor, Khad.” He eyed the uneaten food still sitting on Khadgar’s plate, shifting his eyes toward his almost empty one. “You gonna eat your bacon?” He asked with a pathetic expression, trying to wheedle it free from the mage. It was a common occurrence during breakfast, he usually managed to get a little extra. Khadgar sighed with exaggerated annoyance before dumping one of his eggs onto Lothar’s plate.

“The bacon is mine. If you aren’t my, what was that?, ‘knight in shining armor’, then why are you here?” The comment sparked up a cheerful banter between the two. They bickered straight through the rest of the meal, through the washing up, and it even continued through them starting up another day of research. Lothar made short jabs at Khadgar while he was reading and he even once earned a book thrown at him, which he avoided with a smirk. Soon they settled back into the routine where Khadgar read and Lothar worked through his exercises. Except today he used his actual sword instead of the poor abused broom. Not once did Khadgar mention what he had woken to this morning, their closeness forced to the very back of his mind.

Which is probably why Lothar accidentally took a chunk out of a bookcase when Khadgar made an excited, yet loud, noise. “Lothar, I found- wait, what. Damn it Lothar, these are brand new book cases!” The mage roared with irritation when he saw the split in the wood, marring the polished surface of the case. “Fine, fine. My book case aside, I think I know how to find the cursed item. This book, here, it says we can, uh, we can at least expose cursed items in a ten yard radius around the caster. And, uh, we hope there isn’t too many cursed books in this Library.”

The spell was complicated. The arcane language was intricate, too many unknown words spread through the few he knew. Lothar awkwardly patted the mark he left on the book case before moving over to Khadgar, glancing down at the scribbles. “Can you do it?” He asked uncertainly, grimacing at the gibberish. “Why can’t I just stab it a few more times? My sword is better than your blather.” Khadgar grouched a muttered curse at the warrior before he delved back into the words.

He carefully spoke the words aloud, voice growing stronger as he gradually made way through the spell. His hand waved the intricate gestures required, his face creased in concentration. Blue erupted from his eyes, splashing in dancing symbols over him and Lothar, highlighting the book. The warrior looked uncomfortably about the whole situation but he stood near Khadgar, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The end of the spell came with a thunderclap of sound and wave of bright light spreading through the room. One by one books were illuminated in a faint blue outline.

Khadgar slumped with sudden exhaustion, eyes closed as his chest heaved with his need for air. His breath rasped in his chest and he vaguely heard the explosive cursing from Lothar. “Fuck. There has to be near a hundred damn cursed books!” The warrior dissolved into his most colourful language, covering every oath and swear he knew, and some he created on the spot for just this situation. He stomped back and forth in a furious pace for a moment before remembering his mage. “Khadgar?”

“Khadgar?” He gently shook his shoulder, trying to urge a response from his slumped form. Khadgar offered him a groan and muttered curse which had Lothar chuckling slightly. “C’mon, how about you take your rest in a bed? I will carry you. You should have waited another day before doing more magic, you idiot.” His voice was quiet as he shook Khadgar a little more thoroughly. Khadgar threatened to scorch Lothar with a fireball if he didn’t leave him be. The warrior snorted before he sat down across from the now snoring guardian, shaking his head.

As his eye scanned the books outlined from the spell, he felt the slightest tickle in his memories. He vaguely remembered the crash of thunder and the howl of the wind. Windows shaking from the force of a violent storm, rain lashing in a wild beat. He barely remembered a storm that violent in recent times, yet the barely remembered memory itched at him. A book? A shadow? His eyes narrowed as he desperately tried to remember. He felt dread lurking thickly in his veins, as if he had done something horrible.


	11. A Curse And a Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARE YOU REAADY!? i wrote this at 1:30 AM but I hope you all find it satisfying enough.

Lothar ducked with a yelp under the spray of arcane sparks that flew through the air, turning the room multicoloured in their wake. Khadgar’s cry of “sha’la ros” echoed back through the room, tripping over itself until it faded into silence. The warrior peered around cautiously before he straightened, smoothing a self-conscious hand over his tunic, vaguely ashamed of his alarmed yelp. “That was a bitch of a curse.”

His gaze traveled over to look at his mage; Khadgar leaned wearily against a bookcase, hand still outstretched from flinging his spell. At Lothar’s words though his lips twitched into a tired half-smile, his tongue resting just behind his teeth through the expression, as if he were about to speak but forgot. Lothar quirked his eyebrow up briefly before he looked at the fallen book and a scowl captured his features.

It had been a nasty curse. Enspelled beetles had rushed out of the pages when opened, rushing toward Lothar with a vengeance. He had learned quickly that their bite caused enormous boils that erupted with sickly pus. He’d earned two before Khadgar began flinging his arcane attacks. Thankfully the pus didn’t seem cursed, it just smelled vile. The wounds burned something fierce.

“Here, hold this and hold still,” a gentle hand pressed a bandage into his own, jerking him into the present, eyes dragged away from the book. Lothar blinked in surprise at the closeness of Khadgar, he hadn’t noticed the mage moving around. Khadgar offered him another one of his half smiles before he smoothed his fingers over Lothar’s arm, lifting the limb up. He use a rag to wash away lingering pus then wrapped a bandage around the raw bite that marked Lothar’s bicep.

Lothar held still during the process, biting hard into his tongue to refrain from making any embarrassing noises. By the gods, that _hurt_. A slight hiss escaped when Khadgar cleaned and bound the second wound. He shook his arm out when the mage was finished with his medical ministrations, muttering a quiet curse at the lingering pain. “How many have we gone through?” He asked to distract himself.

Khadgar had moved again; now he was bending down to pluck the book up and he carelessly tossed it into a pile of books whose curses were already sprung. “Thirty? Forty? I’m not keeping count,” his voice hummed with frustration when he answered Lothar. The warrior grimaced and scuffed a boot against the ground, dismayed at their slow progress.

“And you’re sure there isn’t a way to tell which books have had their curse sprung?” He turned to look around at the hundreds of other books lining the shelves, all loaded with a curse or two.

Unfortunately for the duo, even books whose curse was already “sprung” were glowing with a magical outline. All they had to narrow the choice down was books that didn’t require a step stool to reach. Khadgar had reckoned their formerly cursed book was within easy reach.

“For the hundredth time, Lothar, no. I cannot narrow it down.” Khadgar’s voice dripped with sudden venom, roughened with a flare of temper. He whirled around, fixing Lothar with narrowed eyes. “I’m sorry, ok? I’m a bloody worthless Guardian. I can’t do everything, damn it. I was lucky enough to find a spell in the first place.” His voice trembled through his short and sudden outburst, some words broken by a crack in his voice. It turned the vowels squeaky for a moment before he surged on to the next word.

Lothar winced at his lack of empathy for the mage, guilt bubbled up into his stomach, making it feel sour and heavy. “Khad, I apologise. I hadn’t meant...” He started when Khadgar paused for breath, hands clenched at his sides. The mage’s expression suddenly crumpled, the anger replaced so swiftly with an exhausted sadness. It pulled at the warrior’s heart, jerking it around like a puppet on strings. He barely thought on it as he walked forward and circled his arms around Khadgar.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The Guardian stood stiff for a long moment, unmoving in the embrace as he sucked in breaths through a too tight chest. Then between one heart beat and the next, he relaxed into Lothar’s arms. His face turned into Lothar’s neck, hiding hot tears against his skin. Fighting curse after curse had drained the mage, he felt exhausted on every level. Magical, physical, emotional… Each curse had been such a challenge, requiring him to react on a split moment of notice.

Lothar had almost died a few times while Khadgar took a precious second to search his memory and spring a spell in response. The warrior was streaked with dozens of wounds from the curses; Khadgar’s body mirrored his, marked, too, with dozens of wounds. Their desperate search was always haunted by the shade. It had attacked twice during their progress, almost costing Khadgar his life to a curse that animated Lothar’s sword. He bore a thick cut in his shoulder where the blade had struck a glancing blow.

The stitches of the wound pulled and twinged as he sank a bit more against Lothar; he relished the warmth and comfort of the embrace. It soothed his raw nerves even as he slowly regain control over his emotions. He felt the skim of a hand gently gliding up and down his back, fingers catching slightly on the edge of a thick bandage under his shirt. Khadgar sucked in a deep breath, allowing himself a moment of peace as he caught the faint scent of Lothar. He smelled like wood smoke and iron; like oil and cinnamon.

Then he drew back, Lothar’s arms falling away to rest once more at his side. He looked at Khadgar with a concerned expression, guilt lurking in the depths of his searching gaze. Khadgar straightened himself, shoulders pulled back with a strength he didn’t feel. “I’m fine now.” The empty reassurance hung in the tense air, hollow with his lie. Lothar’s eyes moved back and forth as he searched the mage’s face for a moment longer before shaking his head.

“You’re an awful liar. How about a drink? I think we’ve both earned it.” The questioned was posed in a way where ‘no’ wasn’t an option. Khadgar weighed the consequence of a drink and decided it was acceptable. He nodded at the offer and followed Lothar into the kitchen, where he fetched down two mugs and a small cask of sweet mead. They dropped heavily into the chairs surrounding the table, each winced and flinched at the sting of their numerous pains. Khadgar swallowed down the alcohol without pause, relishing the warm burn it gave.

When his mug emptied, Lothar refilled it without hesitation. His own cup was drained as quickly as Khadgar’s, was also refilled. The second drink was cherished instead of gulped, nursed with slower sips that he let roll in his mouth for a moment. The rich taste burst across his tongue, warm and comforting and sweet. Lothar’s rich voice pierced the silence suddenly, his voice roughened and tough. “At this rate, we’ll both end up dead. Either from a curse or from sheer exhaustion. The shade grows bold. Too bold.” His eyes shifted through the shadows behind Khadgar, taking each shadow with a full look, as if it might materialize into the shade.

Khadgar licked his lips, tongue darting out to catch a clinging drop of mead, wetting his lips for speech. “It’s unable to pass the wards for the room. At least then we can sleep in peace, hmm?” His voice was tired sounding even to his ears, the soft chuckled hmm dripping heavy. “I wish I could apply them to the library…” He trailed off with a frown, eyes closing in a long blink before refocusing on Lothar.

“But, yeah, I know. Too much interference from the curses.” Lothar muttered sourly, taking a gulp from his mug, almost as if to wash away his bitter tone. “We should relocate to there on the chance it attacks while we’re drinking.” He jerked his paranoid looks back into the corners, as if he could force the secrets of the shadows out, beg them to say where the shade hid. He hauled himself to his feet a moment later and drained his mug with a long pull. Khadgar mirrored the moment, taking Lothar’s cup while the warrior grabbed the cask.

Together they marched up the stairs, boots thudding too loud against the wood that creaked and groaned under their feet. Khadgar felt as if he spent too much time in his room, scowling at it as they approached. The wards glowed dully on the door, a sullen red pulsing from the runes he’d drawn with his own blood. He’d felt dirty after using the magic required for the ward, but it ensured the shade stayed out of the room. Lothar pushed the door open, the red glow marking his skin for a moment as he passed it by. Khadgar followed shortly, latching the door behind him.

When he turned away from locking the door, Lothar was already pouring more alcohol into their mugs. He wasted no time in drinking his, quirking an eyebrow at the mage in an almost challenging way. Khadgar rolled his eyes heavenward, grabbed his cup, and settled carefully onto the bed. He briefly pondered on how expressive Lothar was with his eyebrows, always lifting one an in indication of his emotions. He let the thought fade as he sipped and Lothar suddenly spoke again, as if the silence bothered him.

“Khad, are you… alright?” His voice was terse sounding to the mage’s ears, quiet and gravelly through the hesitations that lingered on his words. “You snapped there a bit. Are you… Will you be alright?” The concern bled through his voice in the slightest of trembles, the barest of unsteadiness that made his voice warble. He coughed at the end of his sentence and Khadgar suspected it meant to disguise how undone Lothar was.

The fit of rage rushed embarrassment hot through his veins, stained his cheeks a ruddy pink. “I’m fine. Exhausted but I’ll live,” Khadgar rushed to assure his warrior; he desperately wanted this conversation to end when it had barely begun. He raised his mug hastily to his lips, let the sweet liquid tumble past his lips and sink down his throat with a hard gulp. It allowed him time to delay further response. The use of the nickname had his heart quickening, it thudded restlessly in his chest.

By now the warmth of the alcohol had changed, turned into the comfortable buzz that blurred everything with its softness. His fingers tingled, felt too warm as he clutched his cup and he hated being the lightweight he was even as Lothar poured more. The warrior took his lies without comment, just moved to sit next to Khadgar on the bed, legs stretched out. Neither had the energy to remove their boots, scuffs of dust marking the dark cover of the bed.

The silence wasn’t thick or stifling this time; it was companionable and comfortable. Only the slight noise of their drinking, the huff and gasp of their breathing, and the crackle of the fire marked through it. Khadgar swore the thud of his heart was loud as the clash of swords but he knew it remained unheard by his warrior. He felt courage start to build inside him, it scorched his veins with a rush of adrenaline. “Lothar?” His voice was soft, too soft, barely a whisper in the air, barely enough to make Lothar turn and look at him.

His lips crashed hard against the warriors’, their teeth clinked together in a jarring clash. Lothar had surprisingly soft lips though they were unresponsive with shock as Khadgar’s pressed against them. He could taste the lingering sweetness of the mead, felt the ghost of Lothar’s rushing breath fill him. It seemed as if an entire hour passed, the warrior too stiff under him. He was a second away from pulling away, the heat of shame already boiling in him, when Lothar’s arm pulled him in tight.

Need charged their kiss, Lothar attacking him with sudden ferocity. He nipped and licked at Khadgar’s lips with the sudden need, cup clattering to the ground beside the bed as his hand wound through the messy brown hair of the mage. Their breaths mingled in soft gasps and Khadgar found himself almost sitting in Lothar’s lap, pulled so close. He quivered with the rush of emotions that bled through his kiss: need, desire, uncertainty, longing. He hadn’t know just how long he had wanted this moment.

And when they drew back, chests heaving with the force of their panting breaths, he saw the same want darkening Lothar’s eyes. It made him dizzy with a heady rush of completion. “Lothar,” his voice was husky from their kiss, catching in his throat for a moment. Lothar silenced him with another heated kiss, a softer one than before. It spoke more than any words could have as Khadgar’s arms reached out to circle Lothar’s neck in a tender embrace, grounding him in the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also i suck at writing bout kisses, sorry. <3 hope it was alright.


	12. What Are We?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I'm taking a Christmas vacations from the 21-31st. I'll try to get an update rolling through before I leave but no promises. The story is finally hitting the climax (hah). :)

When the need for air was too much, Khadgar drew back with reluctance. His arms hung gently around Lothar’s neck, comfortably resting on his shoulders. A rush of dizziness made the world spin ever so slightly and his heart thudded in his chest like a caged bird. It was electric and heady, as if he were drunk on more than just honeyed mead.

A slight laugh bubbled out of his chest, a tiny sound of utter happiness. Lothar stared at him with too wide eyes, looking disheveled and thoroughly kissed. His lips were kiss swollen and no doubt slightly bruised from Khadgar’s clumsy initiation. The warrior didn’t seemed to mind as he pulled Khadgar back in for another heated kiss.

Khadgar managed an amused snort before he was overwhelmed by the warrior’s need. He fought to claim Khadgar with nibbles and licks, unafraid to take complete control over the mage. His tongue traced teasing touches on Khadgar’s lips before following up with a sharp nip of his teeth, stealing away the surprised gasp. In return, the mage wound his hands up in Lothar’s hair, tugging lightly if he bit too hard or just burying his fingers in the soft strands.

He felt the warmth of a hand against his bare back as Lothar snaked one under his tunic, nails lightly raking against his skin. It was enough to encourage a breathless groan from Khadgar as goose bumps erupted over his flesh. Heat pooled down in his middle as his pants suddenly felt a bit too tight. He felt the curve of a smirk against his lips and he took it as a challenge, moving to straddle Lothar.

The evidence of the warrior’s arousal was clear as he settled into his lap. Their lips were still locked in a fiery kiss even as Khadgar rocked lightly against Lothar and he felt his breath catch at the motion, turned into a soft moan full of need. Within moments, his tunic was being carelessly tossed aside, falling to the ground with the muted whisper of crumpling cloth. Their touches were hesitant at first, made clumsy from awkwardness and drunkenness. But neither cared; the lack of skill was more than made up from enthusiasm.

It was late in the night when the room fell silent. Cries of passion and murmured praises turned into the steady rhythm of slow breathing and different toned snores. Khadgar fell asleep with Lothar’s arm wrapped around his middle, his head pillowed comfortably on the other arm. Lothar drifted off to the slightly annoying tickle of hair against his cheek and the comforting press of another body tight against his.

When morning dawned, they still slept tight against each other. Somewhere in the night, Khadgar got his legs tangled into Lothar’s, their bare skin sticking together slightly. It was Lothar who woke first this time, slowly waking to the stream of sunlight that fell directly on his face. A faint headache pulsed in the back of his skull and a hint of nausea ached in his stomach. Though the uncomfortable sensations were quickly forgotten when he realised he held a naked Khadgar flush against his body.

He took a moment to openly admire the mage, still caught in the grasp of sleep. Lothar was not a sentimental person but in this moment he felt there was nothing more beautiful than the impression of a smile on Khadgar’s lips and the way his hair sticks up messily in every direction. He wanted to never let go of the moment, wanted to lay in the early morning light with this man until the end of time. Alas though, his wish went unanswered as Khadgar shifted slightly, his breathing going from the slow cadence of sleep to the quicker one of being awake.

Lothar braced himself, mind tripping over itself as he wondered if Khadgar would express regret at their situation. His worry is soothed when those warm brown eyes open and immediately melt with a smile at the sight of Lothar. His head turned slightly and he shifted his body to lay on his back. “Morning,” Lothar suppressed his own content smile at the sleep roughened growl of the mage’s morning voice.

“Mornin’.” Lothar replied shortly after he realised he’d been silently looking at Khadgar for a moment too long. “Uh, sleep well?” He asked absently as he tried to untangle his legs from Khadgar’s. How did their legs get so intertwined? It was ridiculous and he eventually surrendered after barely an attempt.

“Yes. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.” Khadgar admitted sleepily as he snuggled closer to Lothar’s body. “You’re very warm,” the last bit was mumbled against his chest, where Khadgar had pressed his face. The warrior couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped him, though he felt a pressing question trapped in his throat, begging to be asked. He cleared his throat slightly, mindful to not jar his sleepy bedmate.

“Khadgar?” He started, catching his attention with the sudden quietness to his voice, “I, uh. I do not want to sound like a maid in the throes of a first love, but I must beg the answer to this. What are we?” He inwardly cringed at the words as he spoke them, feeling as foolish as if he were once more laying with his first. His heart tripped a beat as the impossibility of their relationship, if it were such, as it dawned on him. He would never admit it but he was panicking now.

Khadgar mumbled in his still sleep softened growl, the words blurred and drowsy. “We’re who we are.” A general note of unconcernedness soothed the panic in his chest, though it did not dispel it. “I’m yours and you’re mine now. If you want me that is. Because I know I want you, have for a while now that I think about it. Just hadn’t realised it.” Khadgar was babbling now, his words disjointed and slow as he spoke.

“But you’re the Guardian.” He did not want to shatter their little moment of peace. But the words had to be addressed, had to be spoken. “How can I, the Captain to the Royal Guard, and you, the Guardian of the Realm, be together? It seems impossible. How-“ the rest of his worried tirade was cut short by impossibly soft lips pressing against his as Khadgar suddenly surged upwards to kiss him. He felt a pointed bite sink into his lips as Khadgar nipped him before he drew back.

The sleepiness had been banished by the depth of their conversation, now the mage studied him with his warm eyes and a slight smile. “You worry overmuch, Lothar. We’re powerful and in high positions, yes, but I don’t care.” There was only a slight note of pride in his voice as he spoke. He did not brag but spoke in a frank tone, his hand idly tracing patterns over Lothar’s bare chest. “I’ll be with you if I want. If you want. Your sister is kind and understanding, she will not stop us.”

Lothar sighed softly as his worry receded to the very back of his mind, replaced now with an all too familiar twinge in his heart and tightening in his chest. His sudden love for the bookworm in his bed was reminiscent of the love he felt for Callan’s mother, the gods rest her soul. It rose like a tide in him and threatened to spill over, so he captured Khadgar with another kiss, the moment feeling too perfect to end. Until the growl of their stomachs beckoned them downstairs.

The room was peaceful as they left the bed, fetching clean clothing to dress in. Neither seemed ashamed of their naked state and perhaps they would have continued as they were but the room was too chill to remain unclothed. And Lothar felt as if Khadgar were like a drug, racing through his veins with a fire he remembered from years ago. He felt the urge and desire to touch and taste the mage constantly, his hands tracing his skin and his tongue tasting his lips. It made getting dressed take far long than it should have.

And during breakfast, he was just as captivating. Lothar felt drunk on the sensation. He almost earned them both a burnt breakfast when he captured Khadgar against the wall with a sudden kiss, his hands braced on either side of his face. Khadgar saved the food just moments before it could burn, scolding Lothar with a smile that erased the bite of the words. This newfound urge and want was difficult to handle, hard to keep manageable. Especially as they approached the library for another day of working through curses.

A protectiveness filled him as he watched Khadgar begin the day. The first curse they encountered was relatively mild, just a small gout of fire pouring free from the pages as fiery runes danced in the air. Lothar didn’t even have a role in sedating the curse. Khadgar just calmly murmured words that flowed through the air, his face briefly awash in pale blue and white as he worked his magic. The fire disappeared in a small cloud of steam and the book was set aside with the other sprung curses.

Lothar watched with a tense stance as the mage handled the situation with calm, even flashing a quirk of a grin at his worried warrior. He replied childishly by sticking his tongue out, setting Khadgar off with a laugh as he grabbed the next book. It was made of black leather with intricate golden filigree. Something about it seemed oddly familiar as he studied the book curiously.

It wasn’t until Khadgar turned it around, inspecting it absently, that Lothar recognized it. An enormous green gem sat in the centre of the cover, sparkling in the light of the room. The world seemed to suddenly crash around Lothar, his ears ringing loudly as his memories washed over him too suddenly. He felt dizzy with guilt as that night of the dreadful storm reenacted in his surprise stunned thoughts. A flash of lightning, a spark of curiosity, the pain of being flung. The sensations where almost too much, he felt himself stagger to the side with the weight of the moment.

“Lothar?” Khadgar’s voice was worried, near his ear, filtering through the ringing just barely. A warm hand touched his shoulder, another snaking around his waist, steadying him. He blinked hard against black spots swimming in his vision, instead focusing on the pale face of Khadgar and his concerned expression. “It was me.” His voice sounded hoarse and tinny, broken and cracking through the three simple words.

“I let the shade out.”


	13. I Let the Shade Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for the wait people! :( Writer's block on this piece has been vicious. Take this new chapter and I hope it lived up to any expectation. I know it is a little cliche but trust me, this ending will NOT be cliche. I think we're wrapping up nicely. Maybe 2-3 more chapters until it is over. :O
> 
> On another note, I'm launching another LionTrust fic. The prologue and first chapter should actually be added today!

“I let the shade out.”

The words echoed dully through Khadgar’s mind; he seemed unable to accept their truth, they turned around in his thoughts like a stutter. His blood went from hot with adrenaline from the rush of the book that belched flames at him, to a slithering cold that felt akin to ice in his veins. He blinked at Lothar with confused eyes, the warm brown dulled with surprise.

“You- You let… Lothar? You released the shade?” He barely uttered the words and stumbled over them dumbly with a frown. “How-? You mean, you’re the reason I’ve had every step haunted through this time? Why we could not sleep, for fear of perishing during the night?” Anger slowly built in his words, it lent him the necessary means to speak coherently.

And Lothar. Lothar just stared at him with broken looking blue eyes, like two shards of the sky had fallen to break upon the ground. It did nothing to stem the well of utter anger that rushed hard through his body. “You nearly died just the day before, you great lout!” The insult seemed childish if not for the terrible weight behind it.

Khadgar began to pace, the book clutched tightly within his hands. He rolled his shoulders with agitation, felt the pull of the stitches in his skin where he’d been cut by the animated sword. His anger was like a poison, his magic crackled in his skin, barely contained. Lothar did not offer a single word, he only maintained his broken look.

With a monumental force of will, the Guardian forced a calmness over himself. He quieted the rage and rampant magic, focused himself into a cold moment of clarity. “Very well then, Lothar.” His voice was reminiscent of ice and when he looked toward the warrior, all warmth was leeched from his dulled brown eyes.

“Let us banish this shade. Then you may promptly return to Stormwind, where I am sure you are sorely missed. The Royal Guard need their captain.” He strode forward with purpose; forced himself to ignore the flinch from Lothar and the undeniable hurt that crossed his face. Rather, he laid the cursed book on his work table. He ran his hand over the cover, feeling the ridges under his palm as he steadied himself for the magic the task needed.

He heard a hiss when Lothar drew his sword, readied against the chance of an attack even as he felt his heart crumbling into a thousand scattered pieces. The first few words of the spell dripped from his lips in a wash of vibrant purple and white that stained the air like a handful of stars, plucked free from the night sky.

A dull roar filled his ears, blocked out any sound beyond the incantation as he spoke. His voice was filled with power, thundered through the room like a storm unleashed. It washed his eyes into a glow of blue that spilled over his cheeks, turned his skin pale. Through it, he never heard the warning cry that pierced the air with agony, _“Khadgar, no!”_

Then… pain. It blossomed like an unforgiving flower through his body, past his thoughts to settle deep within him. In the space of one breath and another, he was falling. He barely gasped free the last word of his spell, which rocked the room with a silent eruption of green fire that scorched the walls and burnt the skin. An unearthly wail drowned out his suddenly labored breathing, threatened to shatter his ear drums with its intensity. Then it was blessedly silent.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

Lothar saw the shade manifest seconds too late, eyes having been focused on Khadgar. The mage had been turned away, already partly through his spell. The wash of alien colours made his skin crawl with revulsion and the words felt like an intrusion on his thoughts. It slowed his reaction a fraction when his eyes skirted sideways, slipping over to where shadows had begun to bulge outwards.

His cry of warning came a second too late. A tendril of smoke that mimicked the shape of a sword suddenly stabbed through the air from what was assumed to be the shade’s hand. It slid smoothly into Khadgar’s side, parted the flesh so easily. Blood burst immediately around the smoky shadow sword, splattering to the ground in a rain of bright red.

He watched, frozen to the spot with inaction, as Khadgar dropped heavily to the ground. He scarcely heard the last gasped words before fire consumed his vision. He flinched away from the raw heat that crawled over his skin, turned it a raw red colour. The shade dispersed into a cloud of smoke with a wretched sounding scream, a wail that brought blood trickling from his ears.

When the silence descended, Lothar darted across the room to where his love had fallen. Khadgar was a deathly pale colour, washed with a cold sweat and stained with ash. Lothar did even know he had begun to cry until his silent tears splashed over the fallen mages’ skin and washed away spots of grime.

He gathered the limp mage up into his arms, pulled him up into his lap as he frantically pressed his palms against the gushing wound. There was so much blood; it was everywhere. The floor, Khadgar’s clothing, his clothing, his hands, his legs. Everything darkened with the deep, deep red of life that seeped free so quickly.

“Please, Khadgar, please, no. You can’t die. I need you. I fucking need you.” Lothar babbled the words past sobs that cracked through his chest like thunder, which made his lungs ache with the need to breathe. “Not like this, please, Khad. Khad? Don’t leave me. Not you, too.” He bowed his head with his helplessness, hands pressed so tightly against the wound.


	14. A Willing to Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you all haven't given up on me! Next chapter will be the last.

It always began with thunder and rain. The roll of it shivering through the air, making his bones vibrate with the intensity of the boom. Icy droplets splattered against his warm skin, spilling over to fall to the ground. It soaked through his clothing in heartbeats, plastering the garments flush over his body. He did not acknowledge the discomfort but rather, he stared at the blank headstone sitting before him.

The greyed stone was slowly turning darker under the assault of the rain, streaks smoothing over its pitted surface. It made his heart ache and skip a beat where it pounded away in his chest like an aggravated prisoner, begging for release. He shifted his stance to kneel before the grave, hand reaching out to brush the wet stone.

Unexpectedly, a sob caught in his throat, choking him for a moment with his grief. It threatened to overwhelm him in the moment, stuck like a secret until tears spilled free with the rain on his cheeks. Above him, in a mournful note, thunder boomed once more with the muted crack of faraway lightning.

Lothar let the emotions tumble free, broken and stuttering sobs shuddering from his chest, wrecking his throat with the harsh gasps and choking hiccups. His head bowed as his eyes closed against the force of his tears, the hot salty trails almost burning his cheeks.

He knelt there at the grave until his knees protested and his legs had grown numb from the position. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot when the tears ended; his nose felt as if it had swollen to the size of an apple, tender and bruised from being roughly brushed with the back of arm too many times. He forced himself to stand upright, wincing at the pain in his legs.

“Goodbye,” he managed to whisper to the stone, reaching out once more to brush his cold fingers against it. Then he turned away, leaving it behind as he walked through the sodden streets of the graveyard, back onto the smooth cobblestone of the city. He drew the hood of his cloak up, ignoring the thin streams that were sent down his neck. In the depths of the soaked cowl, no one could see his wrecked appearance.

His boots thumped against the stones as he walked, eyes unfocused, memory guiding him to where he needed to go. He walked through the abandoned streets, the storm begging people to remain inside, tucked away beside their hot fires. Lothar turned when he needed to, shoulder brushing against walls when he cut the corner too hard, ignoring the faint sting when he hit on a bit too hard. Any passersby might have assumed him drunk.

He arrived shortly at the doors of the cathedral, pushing them open with a shove, edging inside out of the storm. It had renewed with force, a howling wind spitting the rain sideways in sheets. A bit of hail had stung his skin before he could get fully inside, making him mumble a halfhearted curse.

Immediately he was being scolded by a priest, their robes swishing as they advanced on him. “Lothar, you dolt. You’re getting water everywhere! Why are you so soaked?” It was followed by a hummed word, almost a chant. Warmth bloomed in his chest as the inner fire worked its magic, a soft fire inside him that dried his skin and clothing. A faint hint of steam curled through the air, smelling of the earthy rain and the oil of his clothing.

“It’s raining.” Lothar answered simply, refusing to offer further explanation. Instead he edged past the priest, heading with purpose toward the healing ward. “Has he woken up yet?” He threw over his shoulder, showing the first hint of passion in the day. It lurked in his voice like a curse, hopeful but sour with helplessness.

“No. He hasn’t changed in the hour you’ve been away.” The priest replied as he followed Lothar, scowling at his rudeness, but seemingly used to it. “Beyond his fever breaking, he is the same as he has been for the past six weeks.” A pause that lasted scarcely a second seemed stifling, then he quietly asked, “Were you visiting Callan again?”

He wasn’t awarded a response as Lothar ducked into the ward, moving hurriedly to a specific bed on the right, second to last on the far wall. He sank into the chair beside it, hand stretching out immediately to touch the pale figure laying in it.

Khadgar looked peaceful where he lay in the bed, chest rising and falling in a slow pace. His hands were resting at his sides, fingers slack against the sheets. His dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks as his eyes moved restlessly beneath their lids, seeing something Lothar could not, the only sign of unease about the slumbering mage. All in all, it was the same sight every day as the weeks bled by.

“Khadgar, wake up, please.” Lothar said in his hoarse voice, still wrecked from his grief at the graveyard. His hand found Khadgar’s, fingers catching his limp ones in a gentle grip, holding them. Normally the warrior would feel shame at such a tender gesture but it had been eroded in the weeks, desperate for a hint of his fiery bookworm.

He smoothed his thumb over the back of the mages’ hand for a few precious moments before drawing back. He fetched a book out from under his chair, settling back comfortably against the padded cushion. With a steadying breath, he started in on the words, voice soft in the silence of the healing ward. Khadgar was their only patient right now, giving Lothar the peace of not bothering others while he read.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Taria watched the heart breaking scene from the darkness of the opened door, leaning against the frame. Beside her was the priest Lothar had been rude to, his eyes also glued to the pair. “The Guardian remains unchanged?” She asked, keeping her voice soft in the oppressive quiet of the cathedral.

The priest, she recalled his name was Cameron, shook his head in reply. “His fever broke before dawn, your majesty. But otherwise… nay, he remains the same. We have prayed over him for hours and hours but the healing seems to slide away like oil on water, refusing to take root. It as if he were unhurt… unwilling to awaken.”

“I think our young Khadgar is waiting for something,” she replied with a tender smile, “I do not worry for him. I think Lothar needs time to repair before he takes on the task of our Guardian.” The gentle note of fondness in her voice made Cameron turn away from the sight of the pair, looking up at her with surprise.

“That, your majesty, does not make sense.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, itching lightly at the scruff he called a beard. “But I will accept it as it is. Have you broken your fast this morning? We are about to serve the meal here. You’re more than welcome to join if the simple fare does not offend.” He offered politely.

Taria looked again at her brother and his ward, smiling at them before she accepted the priests’ offer. “I would be honored to join,” she said as he led her to their dining area. Behind her, the words of her brother reading faded slowly. Perhaps it was odd that she stayed so unworried about her Guardian. But something told her that, in the end, it would all be fine.


	15. Only Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. I might write an epilogue but I am not sure at all. Heavily inspiration from "only human" by Christinia Perrie (?). Actually funny story I was watching a Killugon AMV with the song. Then boom, writing inspiration. So this chapter might feel a bit different than the rest of the story. It also might slightly deviate from what would be cannon behaviour of Khadgar and Lothar but I think I am happy with this ending. THanks all that stuck around for the ride. 
> 
> I do intend to come back later and edit / fix up the errors along the way of the story. I didn't have a beta reader so mistakes were all my own and I feel compelled to fix that.

The gentle fhumph of a book closing sounded like a clap in the silence, almost too long, almost intrusive in the moment. His voice had faded a moment before, the deep timbre quietening in his chest, reduced to the rhythmic thumps of his heart. He found himself holding the book loosely in his hands where they rested limply in his lap.

Hopelessness swelled like a disease inside him, dark and sticky, smothering everything. He stared at the pale face of Khadgar with tears hidden behind his eyes, a slow blink carefully hiding the emotion away. He didn’t know what to do anymore. Reading could only do some much to dispel his worry, to soothe away his fear that Khadgar wouldn’t ever wake up.

Lothar’s head bowed with the helpless lack of hope, the sudden wave that rode into him, brought up the desire to give up. He eased out a tense breath, forced it out as he urged the tears away. His hands now clutched the book spasmodically, clenched and unclenched, fingers digging into the worn leather cover.

“God damn it, Khadgar. Why can’t you just wake up?” Quick as a snake, anger bubbled up to mix in with the utter lack of hope like oil over water, swirling around each other. “I get it, you know? I understand how scary it is but you’re being a coward. My sister… she thinks you’re waiting for something. But I think you’re just too scared to face reality.

“You’ll have to face the damages you caused. The smear over your reputation. The doubts that are now sprouting up like fires. How can we trust a Guardian that doesn’t trust his own people? How do we know he can protect us if he can’t even protect himself?” The words kept tumbling through his lips, a poison that he spat out at the mage.

“Fuck, Khad. You have to wake up and face the reality. You need to prove you can do better, prove that you can be the Guardian that Azeroth needs. And, damn it, I need you, too.” He glared at the mage with a stormy look, eyes narrowed, mouth twisted into an ugly expression. “I need you. I can’t do this again. I can’t lose someone else.” Lothar trembled slightly, his body shivered with tension.

“You’re only human, Khad. You’re only human. When you crash, you break. When you fall, you still bleed, just like me. Like everyone else. You have a limit, we know you do. You aren’t a machine, you have a breaking point. It’s okay to fall down. You just have to get back up. You have to wake up.” He reached out to take up the mages’ cold hands in his own, the book sliding off his lap to hit the floor.

“Please wake up.”

“I need you.”

“I love you.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

_“I love you.”_

The softly spoken words, whispered in a ragged voice, floated through the fog. They swirled through his mind, persistent but oddly unintelligible. He turned them around and around, tested their meaning, urged them to make sense. He repeated them to himself, changed the stress on syllables and stretched the cadence around.

Then it all clicked into place, neatly like a missing gear in a wound up clock. _I love you._ Even though they had been whispered with grief and broken sounding, a warmth suffused throughout him. From the top of his head, straight down to his cold toes. With it came reality and a sense of guilt.

Khadgar had been hiding, something he realised with guilt and shame. Hiding from the challenges he knew were waiting for him when he recovered. Instead of facing it, he hid in his own mind, locked away in his memories. His favourite was that fateful night of sweet drink and sweeter laughter, of hesitant touches and fiery need.

He gently pushed away the memories, collected them up and tossed them away, back to the back of his mind. And slowly, oh so slowly, he blinked. The light was painful at first, made tears gather in the corner of his eyes, which felt sticky and sandy at the same time. He felt his heart rate sluggishly pick up, his breathing ease into a quicker rhythm as he woke up for the first time in far too long.

“Lothar?” The name eased past his too dry lips in a croak that made him blush with embarrassment, followed quick by a short burst of coughs as he realised how parched his throat was. Beside him, he heard the alarmed rust of someone moving quickly. Then the cool touch of a cup against his lips and he was drinking greedily of something warm and sweet. When he felt like he could speak again without coughing up the dust of disuse, he repeated the name, firmer, louder. “Lothar?”

He turned his head to the side, looked up with gluey eyes to study the familiar face looming above him. Lothar looked shocked, an expression similar to someone who had been smartly thwacked upside the head. Then he shook his head and a smile, sunnier than the sun itself, spread wide. “You woke up.”

The words were simpler than those that had woke him up. They were easy to understand. Khadgar licked his lips uncertainly, worried them with his teeth for a second. “I… yes. I woke up. For you.” His heart sped up again, thudded erratically in his chest as he debated internally over his next sentence. He started to say it, paused, coughed slightly.

Then he blurted it out in a squeak of a voice, he sounded like a boy who hadn’t grown up yet. It turned his cheeks pink as a rose, a bright blush of colour over his pale skin. “I love you, too.”

And the kiss that met his words was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. It was warmer than any fire he’d felt. And, for the moment, he felt safe and wanted, his arms around Lothar’s neck as he warrior held him tight, their lips pressed together in a rare moment without shame. Then Lothar was laughing against his neck, beard scratching the skin slightly.

“You’re awake. By the gods, you finally woke up, you little shit.” Lothar moved away from his neck, climbed up into the bed without a care in the world that someone might come in, might see them. Khadgar curled himself up in the strong arms of his warrior, rested his head against the powerful chest, and listened to his heart.

“I was being a coward.” He told Lothar in a quiet voice, “I should have woken up much sooner. But I was scared. I don’t want to deal with anything. I made a mistake that could have killed thousands, myself included. You included. I don’t want to see the warzone waiting for me.”

Silence met his words as he felt Lothar’s arm tighten around him. They laid in the silence, tangled together in a snug embrace until Lothar spoke carefully and methodically. “You’re young, Khadgar. Even if you’re the Guardian, you’re young. Mistakes happen. But no one died. You lived, even if barely, and saved us all. And, technically, it was my fault the shade escaped. Your only crime was spending too much time alone and worrying an old bastard like me.”

He sighed at the touch of Lothar’s hand suddenly smoothing his hair, soothing and comforting. “You’re only human. You still make mistakes. You bleed and break and fall apart. What counts is how soon you get back up and try again. How you learn and adapt and find out what you did wrong.

“It’s time you got back up, Khad. Even if you don’t want to. It’s time to face the crowds, explain again and again and again. It’s time to fix everything and learn and show Azeroth that it’s Guardian can and will protect them.” The words were hard to swallow but the mage knew they were true. He choked down his uncertainty but it didn’t stop him.

“Tomorrow? I’ll face it all tomorrow. I just want you and to pretend it’s okay for even just a moment, a day.”

A gentle kiss. A brief hug.

“Tomorrow then. Tonight you’re only human and only Khadgar. My Khadgar.”

A question, soft. “I love you?”

An answer, firm. “I love you.”


End file.
